


The Wolf and the Unicorn

by alchemagician



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Camarilla (Vampire: The Masquerade), Demon Summoning, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kindred politics, Major Original Character(s), Other, Sabbat (Vampire: The Masquerade), The Baali are Up To No Good, Vampire Clans, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:15:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 53
Words: 51,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25966468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemagician/pseuds/alchemagician
Summary: This was originally published a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away (Deviant Art). It is complete- I wrote it for NaNoWriMo 2007! I had it posted on dA for several years but took it down when I deactivated my account around 2012. So much of my life has drastically changed (all for the better, thankfully), and I am quite far from the person I was when this was written. Nevertheless, I do want to bring it back to light and share it with any who might care to read it.Again, this is a completed work, just over 51k words. I will be updating regularly until it is all on here. Some of the White Wolf universe canon characters will appear and tags will be updated as I go. I wrote this while living in Colorado, far from my heart's home on the East Coast, and parts of this are a love letter to Manhattan. Some of the places this tale visits no longer exists save in memory.The Children of Ba'al/Clan Baali are Up To Something, and as to be expected when they're involved, it's not good. Beckett, the Gangrel archaeologist and Noddist scholar, stumbles not only upon their plan, but also one of the last remnant of Clan Salubri, who is sworn to bring down the Ba'ali at all costs- for reasons that are all too personal.
Relationships: Beckett (Vampire: The Masquerade)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter One

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Tuesday, November 4, 1997 _ ** **_ , around  _ ** **_ 10:00 PM _ **

**_ Somewhere beneath  _ ** **_ Manhattan _ ** **_ … _ **

_ "Over time, there came to be too many of the Cainites, _

_ And then there was war once again. _

_ The elders were already deep in hiding, _

_ For they had learned caution. _

_ But their childer had founded their own cities and broods, _

_ And it is they who were killed in the great wave of war. _

_ There was war so total, that there are none of that generation _

_ To speak of themselves any longer..." _

Beckett turned the tattered, ancient page with utmost care, entranced. 

_ "Waves of mortal flesh were sent across continents _

_ In order to crush and burn the cities of the Cainites. _

_ Mortals thought they were fighting their own wars, _

_ But it is for us they spilt their blood..." _

This was new; a section from the _**Book of Nod**_ that he'd not encountered before! Licking his lips, he leaned forward and studied the arcane symbols adorning the margins.  _ Were they Assyrian _ ? So absorbed was he in the text cradled on his lap that he failed to notice the lengthening shadows until the candlelight was eclipsed, interfering with further perusal of the page.

His gaze snapped upwards just in time to see the blow coming. It sent him sprawling backwards, ass-over-head, and his vision blurred from the impact. With a snarl, he righted himself and came up swinging, bestial claws sprouting from his hands. The book landed somewhere to his far right, with a thud that pained his scholar's sensibilities every bit as much as his aching head.

"Ah, good. I do so love it when they put up a fight." His attacker stood off to the left, smiling like a demented angel, holding the shovel that had so recently connected with Beckett's temple. "I believe you have something that belongs to us." 

"I don’t think so," Beckett growled. Now that he was no longer engrossed with the tome, his heightened senses told him that there were more in the catacombs than just the two of them.  _ Friends of his, or someone else? _ His eyes were dazzled both from the blow and the sudden change from light to darkness.  _ Keep talking, stall for time until your vision clears,  _ he thought. "And besides, you could have simply asked. It's far from polite to smack a man over the head when a straightforward question would have sufficed."

His assailant laughed, shaking his head. "The children of Ba'al ask for nothing. We take what we want." Two more figures emerged from the darkness behind him. 

_ Children of Ba'al?  _ **_ Ba'ali? _ ** This was rapidly going from bad to worse. "So you're here for the book. Take it, then." 

"Book? No, no; that's not it. I'd give you two more guesses, but I doubt you'd figure it out." No sooner were the words spoken than the two newcomers moved, flowing like darkness towards Beckett. He launched himself at the closer of the two, and his claws met flesh, rending the arm that sought to grasp him. He shifted his balance for a roundhouse kick, but found himself frozen in place as the shovel-wielding Ba'ali turned the tool around in his grip and launched it handle-first at him. The wooden shaft ripped into his chest, effectively staking him.

The Ba'ali he'd wounded glared at him and spat into his face. "I won’t forget that, dog-boy," he hissed, holding his ruined arm close to his body. "What you're up for isn’t pleasant by anyone's stretch of the imagination, but I'll make sure to find something special just for you."

His body was paralyzed by the stake, but Beckett's mind raced, trying to work out what the Hell the Ba'ali might have planned, and even more importantly, how to escape with his Unlife intact. No one knew where he was; that was par for the course, he knew, and no one would think twice about him going missing for a prolonged time.  _ I'll find out what I can about whatever they've got going on here, and the moment this fucking shovel is out of me, I'll run like Hell. _ Not much of a plan, he acknowledged ruefully, but just about the only one he had available. 

Unfortunately, it was a plan that didn’t hold much chance of success.

The one who'd staked him seemed to be in charge. At his command, one of the newcomers reached over and grasped the shovel handle, snapping the wood in half. The piece that impaled the Gangrel's heart shifted, causing a spasm of pain that he could not react to counter. The two Ba'ali hoisted him and carried him down the passage and through a series of turn-offs and doorways; he tried to memorize the route, but was soon hopelessly disoriented. Finally, they entered a torch-lit room and he was dumped unceremoniously onto a large slab of stone.

Beckett couldn’t turn his head to examine it closer, but had the distinctly unpleasant thought that it could very well be an altar of some sort. Knowing the Ba'ali's reputation, he didn’t  _ really _ want to think of what sort in particular.

His assailant moved into his field of view with a grin that would've made a Malkavian jealous. "So, I bet you're wondering why I've called us all together," he quipped, and laughed at his own bon mot. He ran a hand through his thick brown curls and winked. "Well. You may or may not have heard the rumors about how the Tremere created gargoyles. They experimented on Gangrel dogs like you, with the occasional Tzimisce and Brujah thrown in for good measure." He reached off to the side, and when his hand came back into Beckett's vision, it was holding a scalpel. " ** _We're_** going to outdo the Sorcerers' wildest dreams." 

He slashed down towards the Gangrel's chest, and cut open his shirt in one fluid movement, the tip of the scalpel slicing through fabric and somehow only grazing the skin. The Ba'ali smiled again, and muttered something under his breath that sounded disturbingly like some sort of incantation. He raised the knife again, the metal glimmering in the torchlight, and brought it down with deliberate precision.

The blade bit into Beckett's flesh; he could not move to avoid it, nor could he scream in agony when his tormentor produced a small, bubbling flask of some vile neon-green liquid and poured it over the incisions. It burned worse than acid, worse than sunlight, and he was powerless to do a goddamned thing about it. Another line was traced with the scalpel, and was followed again by the excruciating fire of the Ba'ali's potion; he howled mutely within the confines of his mind. Another, and another…some remote corner of Beckett's mind realized there was a pattern being carved into his flesh, something alarmingly like a sigil. Two of the lines met with another cut of the knife, and when they joined, the pain seared into his soul. He hadn’t thought things could get worse, but he'd evidently, and rather unfortunately, been wrong.

_ How long does it take for a man to go insane from torture?  _

The Ba'ali raised the scalpel again, this time leaning towards Beckett's face. 

_ God damn it, MOVE! _ His body refused to cooperate, despite his mind's fervent orders. 

An unholy glee lit the Ba'ali's eyes as he lowered the blade slowly and deliberately, savoring his captive's pain. "Oh yes, we will outdo the Tremere quite splendidly, my friend."

Beckett braced himself as best he could for the bite of steel into his flesh once more, but it never came. Instead, his torturer's head abruptly parted company from his shoulders, and the headless body fell forward onto him, dark blood pumping from the severed vessels of the neck for several pulses before the corpse dissolved into ash.

"Damn you, Yeqon. I got you that time, you bastard." Another visage appeared in his field of vision; a grim-faced woman, spattered in gore. "Hang on, this is gonna hurt," she warned him as she grasped the remains of the shovel-handle with both hands and pulled hard. A spasm of pain racked his body as the stake pulled free, and he doubled over, clutching his chest. She grasped his chin and turned his face to hers. "I need you to stay here. He wasn't alone, and I'll be damned if any of these bastards get away." At her touch, a blissful numbness spread throughout Beckett's body along with a sudden inability to move. Despite the paralysis, he was not about to complain; given what he'd endured, he was in no hurry to meet the Ba'ali again anytime soon. She picked up the curved sword she'd set aside to free him and stalked off into the darkness, leaving Beckett alone.

The tunnel was dark, but that was no barrier to finding her quarry. She'd amplified her senses using one of the Gifts of her bloodline, and could sense the two Ba'ali not far ahead.

Only two…and neither of them were Rahab, damn it. She didn't need any sensory enhancements to tell whether he was near.  _ Blood calls to Blood, no matter how sundered or sullied, _ she mused wryly. She moved as silently as only one of Caine's childer could, and soon she saw the pair with her eyes as well as her other senses. Dumah and Pinem'e; not much of a challenge, but certainly worth sending to their Final Deaths.  _ Every Ba'ali that I turn to ash is a gift to the childer of Caine and Seth alike. _ Pinem'e carried a book of some sort under one arm and appeared unarmed, but his compatriot bore his ever-present bastard sword sheathed at his back.  _ Right, then; Dumah first, _ she though with a nod to herself as she stepped out of the darkness, her blade raised and ready to meet his.

Neither of them were expecting her. To his credit, Dumah managed to get his sword unsheathed in time to parry her incoming thrust, but it wavered in a one-handed grip under the force of her strike. Pinem'e whirled and raised a hand, never losing his grip on the tome tucked under the other arm, and called forth a bolt of flame to hurl at her. She barely dodged the fireball and called forth a Gift of her blood long-unused to guide her blade to Dumah's throat. A third eye opened on her forehead, blazing with a fiery light of its own as her sword moved almost of its own accord in a dance past the Ba'ali's oncoming blade. The edge opened a wide gash across her opponent's neck, freeing a cascade of blood and staggering him. She closed for the kill.

Another fireball streaked towards her, and this time she didn't dodge fast enough. Flames wreathed her sword-arm in a bath of agony, and it was only the strength of her will that kept the blade in her hand long enough to send Dumah to whatever Hell awaited him. Pain and fear won out at last, and she dropped the sword and doubled over, clutching her arm close in an attempt to extinguish her smoldering clothing and flesh. As she called the blood to anesthetize the burns, she was all-too-aware of how little of it remained in reserve. Pinem'e laughed, his hand cupping a blossom of flame. "Looks like your luck's run out, Cyclops. Time to meet Saulot." He pulled back his arm to throw the fire at her.

She narrowed her eyes and growled, reaching with her good hand for the dagger tucked in her boot-top. Gritting her teeth against pain that penetrated beyond even her Gift to block, she sprang towards Pinem'e, dagger drawn and glinting orange in the light. The fire exploded over her head as she dove low, connecting with him at knee-height, the momentum of her leap sending them both tumbling backwards into the corridor. She moved quickly to kneel over him, pinning an arm under each knee. He bucked and kicked, trying to throw her off, but there was panic in his eyes now. She gripped the dagger's hilt with both hands and with all her strength drove it deep into his throat. The dagger caught in between two of the neck vertebrae, but was freed as Pinem'e turned to ash. Her vision blurred as she staggered to her feet and collapsed against the stone wall, holding tightly so as not to fall back to her knees.

_ I need to feed _ , she thought in a near-daze.  _ Gods, that was closer than it should have been. Pinem'e, of all people, should never have been able to get that close to taking me out. I'm getting slow in my old age. _ The wall before her face faded in and out as she held to consciousness.  _ Any slower, and I'd have been dead, dead, dead _ .

_ Or more dead than I already am _ , she thought with a wheezing chuckle.

She reached into a pouch at her belt and fumbled with the clasp, her vision fading in and out from the combination of pain and loss of blood. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the pouch opened and she groped blindly inside it for the small treasure that would make all the difference. She grimaced as she realized there were only three left; she'd need to do something about that soon to avoid a disaster. She pulled one of the shining red spheres out and shoved in between her quivering lips, biting down hard and reveling in the rush of energy that filled her, replenishing all she'd used this night. As the blood-hunger left her, she Healed her ruined arm so that not even a blister remained to testify the terrible burns she'd sustained. Sheathing the blade, she bent to retrieve the book and sword that the now-ashen Ba’ali had dropped, and then headed back to check on the Kindred they'd been torturing earlier. Time for some answers...

His present situation was, Beckett mused, only a marginal improvement over being staked. True, his pain had vanished at the swordswoman's touch, but once again he was helpless and unable to move or even to close his eyes. He could see thin tendrils of smoke rising still from his chest where the Ba’ali has poured god-knows-what on him, but thankfully could no longer feel the agony of his burning flesh. Since she'd simultaneously paralyzed and anesthetized him, he'd been unable to do much more than ponder his current situation and wonder at the identity of his erstwhile rescuer. She was Kindred; of that he was fairly certain. Her skill with the sword suggested the possibility that she was Brujah, but the anesthetic touch was something unheard of in all the Clans in these modern nights. The only Clan he'd ever heard of to possess such an ability was the long-vanished Salubri, and the thought that perhaps one of that Clan had survived and had conveniently shown up tonight to rescue him was so absurd that he dismissed it immediately. No, he reasoned, there was another explanation. He didn't recall feeling anything of the sort, but perhaps he'd been so far-gone with pain and delirium that she'd injected him with some sort of painkiller and he'd not felt it. Or maybe there was a thaumaturgical cause; that was a possibility. Beckett's mind wandered so deep in thought that had he been able to move, he would have jumped in startlement at the swordswoman's sudden return. 

She flashed a smile so brief he later wondered if he'd imagined it. "Sorry I had to paralyze you like that; unfortunately, it's a case of taking the bad with the good. It was the only way I could stop your pain at the moment." Her voice bore the trace of an accent;  _ Italian? No, that wasn't it...something older; Latin perhaps?  _ She eyed him warily. "I'm going to release it in a moment, and when I do, it's going to hurt like Hell, I'm warning you. I can take care of some of your injuries here, which should make the pain bearable, but the rest are going to require more attention than we can spare here and now. I suspect that there's more of the pack around, and as much as I'd love to send them all to Hades, neither you nor I are in any shape to take them on right now." She reached one hand out and laid it on his forearm, closing her eyes. The pain burst anew through Beckett's body, and he doubled over, retching. Strong hands gripped both his shoulders and he felt a sudden rush of pleasure more intense than he'd felt in decades. It coursed through him like a lover's caress, pushing aside pain and leaving sweet healing in its wake. He stopped shaking and raised his head to look at her barely in time to see an eye in the center of her forehead closing. 

"You...you _are_ Salubri!" he breathed, unbelieving. 

She stepped away immediately and eyed him warily. "Fuck. Please tell me I didn't just go and heal a Tremere. I've done some damned fool things over the years, but that would take the prize."

He shook his head, and the room whirled as vertigo assailed him. "No, no," he moaned, holding his head, desperately willing the room to stop spinning. "I'm Beckett, of Clan Gangrel. No Tremere will ever hear of you from my lips. I swear it." 

She placed a hand atop his head, and the vertigo slowed but did not stop completely. "In that case, I don't regret saving you from Yeqon's tender mercies." She handed him a ruby-colored sphere the size of his thumbnail. "Here, this will help; you've lost a lot of blood, and we need to get out of here." 

He took the globe from her and examined it as best he could given his still-spinning head. "What's this?"

"It's a Blood  Pearl . There should be enough vitae in there to sustain you long enough for us to get to safety. Neither of us is in any shape to hunt tonight, so we'll rest up and feed on the morrow." 

His eyes widened as he scrutinized the Blood Pearl more closely. "I've heard of these, of course, but I've never seen one before this. Where did you get it?"

"I made it. Now are you going to use it, or just play with it? I have another you can examine to your heart’s content once we are safely away."

Grinning sheepishly, Beckett put the pearl in his mouth and bit down. He gasped as the vitae within gushed forth like the finest wine, and its potency left him shaken. "Damn, woman! Whose blood did you use for that, Saulot himself?" 

She chuckled. "No, it's mine; and if you have a problem with having drunk from me, so to speak, I'll be happy to make amends to you another night. Now, come on!" She hauled him to his feet with surprising strength and shoved a book into his hands. "Hold onto this, I want to look at it once we are safe." She then took hold of his free hand and all but dragged him out of the torture chamber. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Beckett and his rescuer become better acquainted.

**_ ~Later that night _ **

**_ 807 East 87 _ ** **_ th _ ** **_ Street _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ New York _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ NY _ **

"Welcome to my humble abode," she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "It's not much, but it's mine bought and paid for." She turned the key and thrust open the front door, revealing a room furnished with an eye for comfort rather than style. A pair of mismatched, overstuffed couches and a battered table that had started its life as a packing crate sat in the center of the room, and all four walls were lined ceiling to floor with overfilled bookshelves. She unbuckled her sword belt and set it on the table before collapsing onto one of the couches. Beckett set the book down beside the sword and settled into the other. 

Meeting her gaze, he grinned. "You know, I don't even know your name."

She sighed and appeared to consider for a moment. "Antigone. You can call me Antigone."

"Sophocles, eh?" he replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Something like that. Better him than Euripides, by my reckoning." She stood and stretched before walking into the next room. Beckett took advantage of the moment to scan the titles on the shelves, and gave a low whistle of admiration. "Nice library you've got. I may just spend the next few years here." 

From the next room, Antigone laughed. "This here is just the tip of the iceberg. If you like what you see in the living room, just wait 'til you've seen my _ real _ library." She heated a pot of water on the electric stove and let the blood bags sit in the boiling water for a count of twenty, just long enough to warm them to a satisfying ninety-nine degrees Fahrenheit. She returned to the living room and handed one to Beckett along with a pewter mug before returning to the couch she'd been seated at earlier. "Dinner is served," she smirked. 

"Indeed." He inclined a nod of thanks in her direction. "The pain's just now starting to come back, by the way."

She nodded as she poured the blood from her bag into a matching tankard and sipped. "Once I finish this, I should be able to stabilize you further, and I need to get a better look at what Yeqon did to you with that poison." She raised her mug in a toast. "To the Ba'ali, and the hopes that their nights are numbered." 

He lifted his mug and drank deeply, feeling the pain ebb slightly as he did. "Speaking of them, I couldn't help but notice you're on a first-name basis."

She scowled, her dark eyes narrowing. "I made it my business to learn as much as I could about them. It makes hunting them a lot easier when you can anticipate their next move."

"Ah." He sipped more of the blood. "Aside from the fact that, well, they're Ba'ali...it sounds like you have an axe to grind with them, so to speak."

"You could say that. It would be an understatement, but you could say that." 

The Gangrel nodded. "I see. Well, seeing as how I haven't formally thanked you, let me say how very much I prefer your company to theirs."

Antigone chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment. How did you come to be in such a predicament, anyway?" 

He sighed. "They caught me unawares, which is something that hasn't happened to me in a very long time. I'd been searching for a book," he gestured to the one on the table, "and had just found it. I was all caught up in the moment of discovery when they found me." 

She reached over and picked up the book, opening it and scanning a page at random. "Ahh.  **_ The Book of Nod _ ** , or so it would appear."

"Even so."

"You know this is a fake, right? It was planted there for someone to find, and you walked right into their trap."

He choked on a sip of blood and sat up. " _ A fake? _ Are you certain?"

Antigone nodded, brushing a strand of her dark blonde hair behind an ear. "I didn't spend a few centuries hanging around with a Noddist for nothing. It's a piece of junk. It's been artificially aged," she said, turning it over to inspect the spine, opening and closing the cover several times. "I'd say this is at most a decade old." 

Beckett shook his head. "Maybe someone simply made a recent copy."

"Then why go to all the trouble of aging it?" She handed him the tome to examine.

In the better lighting of the room, Beckett could see the signs he'd missed earlier, and had to agree with her. "So I was duped. It's happened before; not for a long time, but it's happened. So you're saying it was placed as a lure." 

She nodded. "Not necessarily for you. I can think of a couple of people who'd jump at the bait of a Book, some of them pretty damned powerful Kindred."

He scowled. "Vykos, maybe?" A spasm of pain caused him to clutch his chest, and he dropped the book.

Antigone was at his side, kneeling beside him, a hand on his arm. "Let me look at that," she said, easing his arm away to his side. He shrugged off the leather jacket and removed the tatters that remained of his shirt, wincing as he moved and stretched injured muscles. She touched one of the burns with her forefinger and examined the fingertip. "Lean back and let me get a better look." He reclined further into the couch as she pulled a lamp closer to light the area better. 

"Hmm. Not a contact poison. Maybe an acid." She licked her fingertip cautiously, and appeared satisfied. "Hmm, no, that's not it either. Whatever it is, it seems to be inert now."

He grimaced, "It doesn't feel inert. It hurts like Hell."

"What I meant is that it's not going to harm me when I'm healing you." She looked up and met his eyes, "I can heal you, and you probably won't even have any scars to show off as a souvenir of your adventure." 

"Good," he hissed as another spasm shook him, and his fist clenched reflexively on one of the couch's pillows. "I have enough scars as it is."

"The tricky part is, though, in order to heal wounds of this sort," she looked away, the faintest flush coloring her pale skin as her voice fell to little more than a whisper, "I need to lick them." Beckett's eyebrows rose. "That is, if you...if you're okay with that." 

He tried to laugh but another wave of pain turned it into a cough. "Where were you when I was alive?" he asked. "I'm sorry; I couldn't resist an opening like that. Yes, please do whatever you need to do to make the pain go away." The spasms were becoming stronger and more frequent, and a faint blood sheen glistened on his forehead. 

Antigone nodded and leaned forward, the eye in her forehead opening with a golden glow as her others closed, and ran the tip of her tongue along one of the burns on his chest. A sensation every bit as intense as the pain he'd felt when the Ba'ali has poured the poison onto his skin, but pure ecstasy where that had been torment, filled him with a rush so intoxicating he wondered for a moment if he'd pass out from pleasure. He was vaguely aware that he'd woven his hands through her hair and pressed her closer to him as she continued her ministrations. Things his mind and body hadn't experienced in the centuries since his Embrace, things he'd though it impossible he'd ever feel again, assailed him as she moved from one burn to the next, until she'd tended them all. 

"That's all of them," she murmured and looked up, meeting his gaze. He realized her third eye was blue, while the others were a rich whiskey-brown. "I hope that wasn't too unpleasant for you." 

Beckett choked on a laugh and pulled her off her knees so that she was sprawled across his now-healed chest, his arms encircling her. "I would hardly describe what you just did as  _ unpleasant _ ." He inclined his head towards her so their foreheads touched. "Quite the opposite, actually." He brushed his lips across hers and felt her tremble as he did. "It almost made getting carved up by a demon-crazed maniac worthwhile." 

She chuckled softly. "Don't you dare go getting yourself hurt again just so I can Heal you. I can make it painful just as easily as I can make it feel good." 

"I wouldn't dream of doing it deliberately; it just seems to be a hazard of the trade." He smiled and twined a finger through one of her curls. 

"You realize that you're feeling this way because you've drunk my blood, you had the Blood  Pearl ..." she said, and he interrupted her with another kiss.

"That could very well be the case, but I'm not complaining. I recall you offering to ‘make it up to me’, in fact."

"I...well," she stammered. 

"Am I right in assuming that if you drank from me, you'd be enjoying these kisses as much as I am?" 

"Quite possibly, although you seem to be enjoying them enough for both of us." 

Beckett moved his right arm from around her waist and brought his wrist up close to her mouth. "That’s not very gentlemanly of me, stealing all the pleasure for myself. Please, let me share it with you.”

She smiled and pressed her lips against the flesh of his wrist before sinking her fangs into the veins beneath. 

A surge of sensation flooded her as his blood touched her lips. Antigone trembled slightly as she drank for a handful of seconds, then closed the two small holes in his wrist with a flick of her tongue. She licked the last sweet drops from her lips and looked up to meet his gaze, which burned with an intensity to match her own. Beckett smiled and pulled her to him, his lips brushing gently across hers, sending ripples of electricity down her spine.

All too soon, the kiss was over, and she found herself facing him, her face flushed. “You know," she said, "I know next to nothing about you." 

Beckett smiled and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. "What would you like to know?"

"Everything," she replied, laughing. "Or whatever you feel like telling me."

"Let's see..." he moved so he was lying full-length on the couch and slid a pillow beneath his head, turning onto his side. “You might as well get comfortable, it's a long story." 

Antigone rose to go towards the other couch, but he took her hand and pulled her up to lay beside him, her face inches from his. "Alright, ready when you are."

"Well, you already know my name is Beckett. I'm an archaeologist and a historian, and one of my hobbies is chasing after Noddist artifacts. I try not to put myself in situations like the one you found me in, but it happens more often than not, I'm afraid." He chuckled, "But normally I can find my way out of trouble on my own; this is the first time I've had a beautiful woman come to my rescue." 

She snorted. "Oh please. I've looked into the mirror for enough years to know I'm not beautiful. My sister Iza was the beauty in the family; I was the clever one."

He raised an eyebrow and quirked a half-smile. "If you say so. As I was saying, I usually can extricate myself from bad situations. If you hadn't come along when you did, though, this might have proven to be the exception." He closed his eyes and rubbed them wearily with a gloved hand. 

"I meant to ask you before," Antigone took his hand in hers and ran a fingertip along the back, "Why are you wearing gloves?" 

He sighed. "For the same reason I normally wear sunglasses...although I seem to have lost those along the way." He looked at her, his irises glowing crimson. "Even the most obtuse of mortals can tell that my eyes are something not quite normal." 

"Ah," she nodded in understanding as she continued to trace feather-light patterns across the back of his hand. "Since neither of us are Kine, why keep them on?" She gently tugged the thin leather glove from his hand.

Beckett would have held his breath if he’d still been breathing, waiting for her reaction. His hands were a visible testament to a time he’d lost control to the Beast within; the back of his hand and his fingers were covered with dense black fur and instead of fingernails, at the end of each finger was a thick black claw. 

She kissed the back of his hand and twined her fingers within his, and then leaned close to feather a kiss across his lips. He removed the glove from his other hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, guiding her beneath him on the couch as he deepened the kiss. Once again, sensations and emotions he thought long gone flared to life within him as she responded, arching her back and pressing her body against his.

“It’s nearly dawn,” he whispered in her ear after what could have been a moment or an hour of kisses. 

Antigone nodded. “I know.” Her limbs felt heavy and as much as she felt she could go on kissing him forever, she was losing the battle to stay awake. “Come with me,” she said, rising to her feet and leading him down the hall by the hand. “Bed’s more comfortable than the floor.”

He hesitated for a moment.

“Unless you want to sleep on the floor..?” she asked, standing beside the bed, then realized the reason for his hesitation and looked away, embarrassed. “Look, I am falling asleep standing here. I need to lie down. I’d rather you were with me in case there is some after-effect of whatever that stuff was that Yeqon poured on you. But if you’d feel more comfortable on the floor or one of the couches, I understand.”

Beckett nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right, of course.” His mind was clouding over with exhaustion as he stumbled past her into the room. He barely had time to kick off his boots and settle down on the bed under a soft comforter before sleep overtook him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antigone's home is based on my memories of my great-uncle's Manhattan apartment, and shares the same address. 
> 
> Yes, I realize it would take a lot to fool a scholar like Beckett with a fake antiquity. He's still a little addled from the Ba'ali's tender mercies.


	3. Chapter Three

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Wednesday, November 4, 1997 _ ** **_ , after dusk _ **

One of the things he’d never get used to, Beckett mused, even after centuries of Unlife, was waking up wholly alert. He’d never been a morning person, and it usually took several cups of tea to fortify himself against the day. But since his Embrace, he’d risen every evening fully and completely awake.

_ Where the Hell am I? _ he thought for a moment, disoriented; then the events of the previous night came back to him all at once. The catacombs…the Ba’ali…Antigone. 

  
_Antigone._ He rolled over and she was there beside him, still deep in slumber, her golden curls tumbling over her face and her lips slightly parted. He felt a strong urge to lean over and kiss her, and wondered at that for a moment before remembering that they’d drank from one another. Of course; the Blood did that. One drink was nothing to worry over; two, possibly. Three would never happen. _Might as well make the most of the situation,_ he thought with a grin, and leaned over to brush his lips across hers. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled when she saw him, and she returned his kiss with a shy sweetness that made his long-silent heart ache with desire. He pulled her closer, brushing aside the hair from her face and letting the long golden strands slide through his fingers. 

She reached for him as well, one hand stroking his cheek; he leaned into it and then turned his head to kiss her palm. He trailed kisses from there up along the inside of her wrist and forearm with deliberate slowness, drawing each one out to savor the intensity of the moment and the sweetness of her skin. Beckett ached to taste her again, but knew better than to give in to that desire.  _ If this is what one drink can do, I can’t imagine what a second would be like _ , he thought, his mind clouded over with sensation as his lips left her arm and moved to her throat. The scent of her blood so close to the surface there was intoxicating, and it took all the self-control he could muster not to sink his fangs into her pale flesh and drink deeply from her. 

Antigone gave a low sigh of pleasure and gently turned so she could kiss him. Their lips met hungrily and this time there was no shyness in her attentions. He parted her lips with his tongue and deepened the kiss, reveling in the soft moan in the back of her throat and the way she pressed her body against his, her form molding to his own. 

He could have kissed her for hours, but for the rising hunger within them both. They’d both lost blood the night before, and the sustenance provided by the blood bags had long since faded. Reluctantly, he broke away and sat up. “We both need to feed tonight,” he said. “You especially, after all the blood you must have used healing us both.”

She nodded in agreement. “I suppose we should just plan on meeting back here in a few hours.” She might enjoy his kisses, but like every Kindred she was a solitary hunter. 

Beckett concurred. “Leave the window unlocked so I can get back in if I return before you do,” he said. “Hmm, it seems I’ll have to find myself some new clothes while I’m out. Your Ba’ali friends quite effectively destroyed the ones I’d been wearing last night.” He looked ruefully at the ruined jeans he still wore.

“I’d loan you a t-shirt, but I doubt mine would fit you,” she laughed. 

“Going outside shirtless in  New York in November is going to attract some attention, don’t you agree?” he smirked. “I guess there’s only one thing to do about that.” He focused his mind inward and his form shimmered, air and space bending around him, until there was no longer a man but a golden-eyed wolf with white fur sitting on the bed grinning at Antigone.

“ _ That _ is a trick I would give much to learn,” she said, eyebrows raised. 

Beckett shifted back to his human form and leaned in to kiss her once more. “I’ll see what I can do about teaching you, if you’d like. Now if you’ll get the door behind me, I’ll be off.” He donned his boots and jacket and walked back through the living room to the front door. "The sooner I leave, the sooner I'll be back." He smiled at her and pulled her close for one last kiss.   
  
Once outside, he slipped into the shadows; a white wolf left them moments later, loping along the silent streets of the Upper East Side towards the nearby darkness of Central Park.


	4. Chapter Four

_ ~ _ **_ Later that night, Somewhere in Manhattan _ **

Using one of the powers of her Blood, Antigone extended her awareness outward, looking for telltale signs of a mortal in distress. In a city like  Manhattan , she never had trouble locating someone who needed healing of one sort or another, and true to her expectations, almost immediately picked up a source of emotional distress a few blocks away. 

She moved silently through the night, following her senses to a brownstone and scaling the fire escape to the third floor. The window was open slightly, and she could hear muffled sobs from the woman inside. She extended her senses further, and found the cause. Soundlessly, she edged the window up until she was able to slip inside, and in a moment she knelt beside the bed where the woman lay weeping. Pushing her senses just a bit further, she found her name. 

"Joan," she whispered, reaching to stroke the woman's hair. 

Startled, the mortal woman gasped and turned to look at her. "Oh my God! How did you get in here..." 

"Shh. You have nothing to fear, Joan. I am here to help you."

"I'll call the police!" Her voice rose in panic.

Using her Blood's gifts further, Antigone projected an aura of peace and trust; the effect was immediate.

"The doctors told you there was nothing they could do for you, didn't they?" Antigone stroked the woman's hair again.

Sobbing, Joan McMenamin nodded, tears streaming down her face. "It's cancer...my liver. I have less than six months to live."

"But you prayed for a cure, didn't you? For a miracle?"

Joan nodded again.

Antigone smiled. "Your prayers have been heard. I've brought you your miracle." She leaned forward and kissed Joan's forehead. 

"You...you're an angel!" The look on the woman's face was rapturous.

_ Neglecting to answer the question at hand is _ **_ not _ ** _ lying, _ she told herself, and instead asked, "Do you believe in angels?" At Joan's nod, she smiled. "Then close your eyes." She nipped her fingertip and a drop of dark blood formed there; her third eye opened and bathed the room in a golden glow. "Now open your mouth." She placed the drop of blood on the woman's tongue. "When next you see the doctor, there will be no trace of the cancer." The Salubri took Joan's hand and raised it to her mouth, her fangs slipping beneath the skin and into the veins. For a count of thirty, she drank, and then licked the wound closed. Joan's expression was beatific. "Go to sleep, dearest, and dream only happy dreams." Obediently, Joan lay down and was fast asleep before Antigone exited via the same window she'd entered. 

_ Blessed are those who give when they receive, _ she thought with a smile as she moved silently through the night in search of someone else who needed a miracle. 


	5. Chapter Five

**_~_ ** **_Thursday, November 5, 1997_ ** **_,_ ** **_4:30 AM_ **

Antigone unlocked the three locks that secured the front door and stepped into the vestibule of her home, securing them again behind her once she was in. Built before the turn of the century on what was then the outskirts of Central Park, with ten-foot ceilings and leaded glass windows, it was a comfortable retreat from the world. She walked to the interior door, unlocked and opened that as well, and stopped with a smile to take in the scene before her eyes. 

Sprawled on one of the couches, wearing a new pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt, Beckett was reading one of her books and was very obviously lost in concentration. After a moment, he realized she was standing there and looked up, marking his place with a bookmark and closing the book. “You have pieces of the Cycle of Lilith,” he said, grinning widely at her. “And some of the other books here are ones I’ve only heard about.” 

She crossed the room and sat on the opposite couch, kicking off her sneakers. “The Lilith pieces, as I’m sure you can tell, are copies. Actually, a lot of what I have here are copies that I’ve made from works borrowed from others.” 

“I noticed that. I’d love to know your sources. I think I’m jealous,” he smirked with a nod. 

“Most of the Kindred pieces I have are copies I made from books in my friend Viktor’s library. He’d never let the originals leave, not even if I were the one borrowing them, and to say he’s selective in who he’s willing to deal with is an understatement.” 

He mentally reviewed the roster of Noddist scholars he knew of, and could only come up with one possibility. “Viktor Ilanovich?” 

She nodded with a bright smile. “The brother I should have had. Do you know him?” 

Beckett shook his head, “No, only by reputation. You have some interesting associates, woman.” 

She threw her head back, laughing. “I’m assuming you’re including yourself in that category as well, then?” 

He smirked and mimed throwing the book at her, “Of course not. So how in the world did you manage to befriend a reclusive Noddist and earn his trust enough to have access to his library?” 

Antigone sighed and stretched. “ _The enemy of my enemy is my friend._ The Tzimisce have just as much cause to hate the Tremere as the Salubri; he and his sire sheltered me for years.” She closed her eyes, evidently lost in memory. “Uskanova was very kind to me, and treated me with the same respect and accord as she did her childe. I miss her.” 

Beckett looked at her and started as he noticed faint traces of blood near the corners of her eyes and on her cheeks. “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?” 

“What?” She was caught off guard. “No, everything’s fine.” The lie came harder to her than she’d thought it would. 

“Are you sure?” He got up and moved over to the couch where she was sitting. 

Her speech faltered and she bit her lip, a spot of dark blood welling up. “It’s nothing to worry yourself about. I’ll be fine,” she said. 

He brushed a kiss on her cheek. “Alright, if you say so.” He pulled her close and held her to him, and that was when her self-control finally broke. She wrapped her arms around him tightly as if clinging to him for life, her body shaking with silent sobbing. Beckett held her and stroked her hair until she regained her composure and sat back up, wiping blood-tears away. 

“Maybe it is something to worry about, hmm?” He brushed a tear away and kissed her again. “Want to talk about it?”   


Antigone released a shuddering sigh and nodded. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, though.” 

He barked a laugh. “I’ve hung around with a Malkavian for a long time; crazy is a relative term.” 

She laughed despite her tears. “I suppose so. Well…it’s just that there is so damned much despair and pain and sickness and evil in this world, and there is so little I can do about it. No matter how many people I help or heal, there are more, so many more.” Her voice broke and she sobbed again. 

Beckett raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s a sentiment I’d never thought to hear from a vampire’s lips.” 

“I told you that you’d think I was crazy.” She hid her face behind her hands, rubbing her weary eyes. 

He leaned over and gently took her hands away from her face, taking one in each of his, and met her gaze squarely. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Antigone. I’m not sure I understand you, or why you feel the way you do, but if it’s a form of insanity, a lot more of us could do with catching it.” 

“You’ve heard of Golconda, I assume?” she asked. 

He nodded. “I’m not sure that I believe it’s real, but I know what it is.” 

She smiled sadly. “Oh, it’s real, all right. I’ve met three of our kind in all my years who’ve reached it; two were of my Clan, the third Brujah. I’ve been struggling along the path myself for a long, long time, and there are nights when it’s a harder road to walk than I ever imagined. I may never get there, but I just can’t give up trying. It’s become part of who I am.” 

Beckett reached for her and took her in his arms again. “You are the most unusual vampire I’ve ever met,” he chuckled softly, “and I don’t mean that in a bad way.” 

She rested her cheek against his shoulder and breathed in his scent. “Thank you. I…I haven’t been able to talk about any of this to anyone for a long time. It means a lot to me.” 

He held her tighter and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for trusting me enough to talk about it. Like I said, I might not understand it, but I’ll certainly listen if you need me to.” 

“Can you stay here with me again tonight?” she asked. “I’d really rather not be alone.” 

He nodded. “I can stay as long as you want me to. Besides, I’ve got a score to settle with your Ba’ali friends now, so you can count me in for taking them on whenever you’re ready.” 

She looked up and smiled, and Beckett felt his long-ago stilled heart skip a beat. “Thank you,” she whispered, and kissed him softly. A wave of emotion crashed over him as he deepened the kiss and cupped her breast with his hand, reveling in how she trembled at his touch. _It’s the blood, it’s got to be the blood,_ his thoughts raced wildly. _I can’t possibly be falling for her…that doesn’t happen to vampires. I can’t actually be starting to care for her, could I?_ He found his thoughts to be a distraction, and pushed them aside as best he could, focusing instead on the taste of her mouth on his and the softness of her body pressed against him. 

Antigone whispered, “We only have an hour or so until sunrise. I’d love it if you’d just lie down with me and hold me.”   


He kissed her once more and smiled. “I’d like that as well. Last night, I more or less passed out as soon as I hit the bed.” 

“Me too; it was a hell of a night,” she said. 

Beckett nodded and stood, helping her to her feet. She took his hand and he followed her down the hallway to the bedroom. 

Antigone sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly shy. Not needing the light to see anyway, Beckett flicked off the switch and crouched before her, taking her hands in his. “Aside from last night, I haven’t trusted another Kindred enough to sleep in the same room as them for a very long time.” Despite the darkness, he saw her nod. “I never imagined I’d find one I trusted enough to want to fall asleep in her arms.” A smile so bright it could have lit the room rewarded him, and he felt a warmth that started in his chest and spread throughout his body. 

He leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers, and when she pulled him close and kissed him, parting her lips and flicking the tip of her tongue across his, the warmth became a wave of heat that filled him. He eased her back onto the bed and got in beside her; she pulled him to her and wound her hands through his hair as his tongue explored her mouth. Sliding his hands beneath her shirt, he thrilled to the feel of her bare skin and broke the kiss long enough to draw the shirt over her head and toss it on the floor. His shirt soon followed, and she trailed her fingers lightly in patterns over the skin of his chest, almost-tickling him and inciting further sensations he thought forever gone from him. He coaxed one breast free from the confines of her brassiere and gently, ever so gently, flicked a fingertip across the nipple, and was rewarded with her gasp of pleasured surprise. 

Antigone could scarcely believe the sensations flooding her being; of course, there had been men she’d been attracted to when she was a living woman, but she’d passed from living to undead never having known a lover’s touch. She’d been promised in marriage, but before a wedding could come to pass, her world had fallen apart. With trembling hands, she reached for Beckett and brushed her fingers across his cheek. He pulled her close and kissed her again, and she reveled in the taste of his kiss and drank in his scent hungrily, burning them into her memory. Whether the emotions that gripped her were the result of drinking his blood or not, she cared little; all she knew is that she never wanted this night to end. 

Beckett trailed kisses down her neck, desperately fighting the insistent urge to pierce the tender skin there with his fangs and drink deeply of her blood. He opened his eyes briefly and to his delight and wonder saw a look of pure rapture on her face, and knew that this was an image he’d carry with him forever, come what may. He kissed her lips once more and leaned back, smiling at her. 

Her eyes fluttered open. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing at all,” he replied, twining his fingers in her hair. “I just wanted to look at you.” 

“It’s pitch black in here,” she said matter-of-factly. “Unless you haven’t noticed.” 

Beckett chuckled. “I can see in the dark. It comes with the blood, same as your healing does for you.” 

“Ah,” she replied. “Another trick I’d like to learn.” 

He kissed her cheek with a smile. “Well, if you’re serious about wanting to learn shapeshifting, Darksight is part of the Protean discipline as well, so we may be able to make that happen for you. It’s not easy to learn an Outclan discipline; I’ve done it myself, so I know that it is possible, but it does take time and work.” 

She nodded. “I understand. It took me a while to learn Animalism from Uskanova, but once I got the basics, the rest came more easily.” She sighed as she felt the lassitude that came with the sunrise fill her. 

Beckett kissed her once more and pulled her to him so that her head was pillowed on his chest, and wrapped his arms around her. As consciousness faded, she thought she heard him whisper, “Sleep well, love…”, and then she knew no more. 


	6. Chapter Six

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Saturday, December 13, 1997 _ ** **_ , around  _ ** **_ 11 PM _ **

Somehow, more than a month had passed since the night they’d met. Beckett found it mildly unsettling how quickly he'd adapted to being with Antigone. A loner by nature, he found himself enjoying her presence beside him; as suspicious as the next vampire, he nevertheless put his trust in her as he would not have in most others. And by far, the most alluring aspect of her company was the mutual attraction - _ perhaps lust might be a better word for it _ \- he thought with a chuckle- that they had for one another.  _ It’s the blood, _ he mused. They'd shared a taste of one another's blood, after all. One drink was all it took to ensnare a mortal, but for another Kindred, it took three. The first awakened feelings of attraction and regard; the second intensified these. It was the third drink that bound one Kindred's soul to another in a Blood Bond. That, Beckett reasoned, could be the only explanation for his feelings for her, which seemed to intensify nightly.  _ Face it, _ he told himself, shaking his head in mild disbelief,  _ you’re falling in love with her. You didn’t think that sort of thing happened to Cainites, did you?  _ He closed the book he’d been reading and set it on the table; given his current train of thought, he doubted he’d be able to continue with the rather dry treatise on Koldunic magic. 

For the last five weeks, he’d spent his days asleep in her arms. Their nights together were full of impassioned kisses and furtive caresses. He ached to make love to her, but the fear that physical intimacy of that level was not possible for their kind kept him from making any overtures. In the early years after his Embrace, he’d attempted to discover whether physical pleasure was still possible for him, and found to his dismay that avenue appeared closed forever to him. Since then, he’d sought to sublimate any need for physical pleasure through other outlets, and had until now been successful. 

_ The woman is driving me to distraction,  _ he thought, rubbing his eyes. Still, he considered with a smile, he had no real objections to her presence in his nights. She shared his passions for knowledge and discovery, and he appreciated her dry wit and insight. These, along with the fact that he found her to be (despite her protestations to the contrary) quite attractive, made for a potent combination and one that he was not about to refuse.

Her one-woman crusade against the Ba'ali was something he wanted to learn more about. Beckett was of course familiar with the stories of the Ba'ali Wars and how Salubri warriors played an important part in opposing the demon-worshippers. Antigone's mission, however, seemed to him to have more of the flavor of a personal vendetta than the simple carrying on of a Clan tradition. She knew the Ba'ali, at least the ones in this particular pack, by name, and had to her own admission been hunting them for a long time indeed. She'd clashed with them on numerous occasions that she'd mentioned, usually leading to the Final Death of one or more of the demonologists, but admitted to having occasionally sustained injuries severe enough at their hands to merit some serious healing. Another thing that puzzled him was that she healed as well as fought; anything he'd ever heard about or read of the Salubri suggested that they followed one path or the other, never both. 

Beckett stood and stretched, wondering how long until she’d return. He’d hunted quickly tonight; a jogger careless enough to pay more attention to his iPod than his surroundings had crossed his path shortly after he’d set out. Rather than spend the rest of the night prowling the city, he decided to return to the house and wait for Antigone to come back from her hunting. Restless and a little impatient, he began pacing the length of the room.

Somehow, she'd managed to find out more about him than he'd revealed to any other in all his years. He found himself telling her about his mortal days in  England , his travels across the Continent and some of his training. They'd talked about his long friendship with the Malkavian prophet Anatole, and his association with the Lasombra assassin Lucita. But despite all his revelations to her about his own past, he still knew precious little about her. She'd grown up in  Greece , she'd told him; she had loved her father very much and always smiled when she recalled times they'd spent together. In the course of her travels, she'd learned to read and write over a dozen languages, and spoke at least half a dozen more semi-fluently. She fought like a hellcat with sword, dagger, fists and feet, he thought with a grin and rubbed absently at a bruise one of her kicks had left when they sparred on the rooftop the previous night. She healed wounds so thoroughly that they left no scars. And that was about the sum total of his knowledge of the woman. How old was she? He'd put a guess at early twenties for the age she'd been when Embraced, but how long ago she'd seen her last sunrise, he had no inkling. He'd met ancients of their kind, and she did not act like they did; she was almost alive with emotion most of the time, and held tightly and proudly to any traces of her humanity that remained, but he'd bet his last dollar she was no childe of the modern nights. 

And that was yet another thing that rankled him. He knew relatively little about her…how could he possibly fall in love with a woman he barely knew? Rationally, it made little sense.  _ But then again, _ he sighed,  _ since when has love been rational? _

The jangle of keys in a lock broke him from his reverie, and he turned to see Antigone coming in the door, her face flushed from recent feeding. “You’re back early,” she said, smiling at him. “Everything alright?”

He nodded and crossed the room to her, taking her in his arms and kissing her. Her skin was as cold as the near-freezing air outside, and he took her hands in his to warm them. Granted, his body temperature was the same as the rest of the room, but it was considerably warmer in the cozy brownstone than it was out in the mid-December night. “You’re freezing,” he said as he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them. 

“Not that it matters, but yeah, it’s cold outside.” He released her hands and she shrugged out of the long coat she’d been wearing, draping it over the back of a couch.

He grinned wolfishly at her. “I might be able to warm you up, if you’d like.”

Antigone’s eyebrows raised and she grinned. “I think I just may take you up on that offer. Did you have something specific in mind?”

Beckett motioned with his head in the direction of the bedroom. “Oh, I have _ several _ specifics in mind,” he smiled, and walked down the hall. She chuckled softly and followed him. 

She reached to flick off the light switch, but he shook his head and pulled her to him, kissing her and running his hands through her hair. She moaned softly and trailed kisses across his face and down his neck, and he felt a flare of arousal as she gently, without breaking the skin, nipped at the hollow of his throat. He gave a low growl and with a gentle shove, sent her falling back to the bed. He pounced on her and pinned her down, kissing her with a passionate intensity that showed no signs of abating. 

Antigone slid her hands beneath the fabric of his shirt and ran her fingernails over the skin of his back with almost- but not quite enough- force to draw blood. The sensation seemed to set him alight with desire, and with the barest effort, his claws tore her clothes from her body. She laughed and pulled the shirt over his head, and fumbled with the button-fly of his jeans; he simplified matters for her by shredding these as well and tossing them aside. 

This was, in all their weeks together, the first time she’d let him see her fully naked in the light. “Dear gods, Antigone…” he breathed, “You are amazing.” And it was true; the swell of her full breasts and hips, contrasting with the taut muscles of her arms and legs, were enough to drive a man mad with desire.  _ At least this man, anyway,  _ he thought with a smile. 

She blushed and tried to cover herself with the sheet, but he snatched it from her and raked his gaze up and down her body. She pulled him to her and kissed him, running her hands across his chest and down over his abdomen. A rising heat had been building in his groin, and it threatened to burst into wildfire as she reached lower and with a feather-light touch brushed a fingertip over the head of his cock.

The fire exploded and coursed up his spine, and reflexively he sent a surge of blood to the long-unused organ; it swelled with blood and was almost instantly erect.  _ Oh my…I suppose that answers  _ **_ that _ ** _ question _ , a distant part of his mind acknowledged. He moved atop her and thrust his hips against hers, his cock brushing through the dark golden curls and pressing against her opening.

Antigone gasped and opened her eyes. “Beckett, I…I’ve never done this…”

“Shh,” he pressed a finger to her lips. “Do you want to?” At her nod, he kissed her and traced a path along her jaw with the tip of his tongue. “It will hurt, but I’ll be as gentle as possible.” She nodded again, and her eyes met his with a blazing intensity. “I...I want you inside me,” she whispered. He closed his eyes and felt a shiver of desire course up his spine. “I need you, Antigone,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, and with agonizing slowness, he entered her.

She gave a soft cry of pain and closed her eyes, not expecting it to hurt as much as it did, and he stopped to hold her tightly to him. “Let me know when it doesn’t hurt as much,” he whispered, and she nodded. A moment later, she opened her eyes and met his gaze, nodding, and he slowly entered his full length into her. She moaned and arched her back, and met his next thrust with her own. Another thrust, and another…their kisses became more urgent; on the next, he threw back his head and she reached forward, pulling him to her and plunging her fangs into the skin where his neck and shoulder met. A brilliant flash of ecstasy flooded him, and his fangs slipped into her neck. The taste of her blood was intoxicating, the feel of his blood being drawn into her mouth exhilarating. As they drank from one another, his thrusts into her became more and more fervent as he felt his climax approaching.  _ This can’t be happening, I must be dreaming…this isn’t possible…  _ he thought, but the force of his orgasm sent all thoughts fleeing and he pulled his mouth free of her. “Yesyesyesyes…” he moaned, and collapsed atop her as his body shook, holding her so very close and tight.

_ So that’s what it’s like, _ she thought with a very self-satisfied smile and held him close to her, his head pillowed on her breasts, her fingers stroking his face and winding through his dark hair.  _ It certainly was well worth waiting for.  _ She extended her senses ever so slightly and was rewarded with seeing the brilliant rose of his aura. _ He loves me. He doesn’t have to say it for me to know it to be true.  _ She yearned to say the words herself, to tell him how she felt, but despite what they’d just shared, wasn’t certain how he would react.  _ No matter. I love him, and I know he loves me. That’s enough for me. _

Beckett felt himself swimming in a drowsy reverie of thought and emotion.  _ My god, I am completely and hopelessly in love with her,  _ he thought, and even though a distant part of his soul twinged with alarm at the idea, he smiled and reveled in the sensation. He turned to look at her, and the expression on her face seemed to say that she was feeling something quite similar. He longed to tell her how he felt, but he was still uncomfortable admitting the truth of his emotions to himself, never mind confessing them to her. He leaned up and kissed her, drawing her lower lips between his and nipping the flesh with his teeth, drawing a small drop of dark blood which he lapped up eagerly. 

Antigone moaned softly in the back of her throat, and the sound set Beckett’s senses afire once again _.  _ He kissed her and slid his once-more erect cock within her soft folds, relishing the way she moved with him and the beatific smile on her face as she met his thrusts with her own, her legs wrapping around his and drawing him deeper into her. She bit his shoulder and shivered with pleasure as she tasted his blood, and he responded by leaning down and drawing one of her breasts to him, running his tongue in circles around the nipple before gently sinking his teeth into the tender flesh and drinking from her again.  _ I could make love to her until dawn, _ he thought with a smile…and proceeded to do just that.


	7. Chapter Seven

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Sunday, December 14, 1997 _ ** **_ , around  _ ** **_ 5:45 AM _ **

The night was fading before the light of dawn, and Antigone snuggled close against Beckett’s chest, lazily tracing patterns with her fingertips along the arm he had wrapped around her. 

“Can I ask you something?” he murmured sleepily.

“Of course,” she replied, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Why are you so obsessed with the Ba’ali?”

She sat up and sighed deeply. “They killed my brother and sister.” A flash of old pain crossed her face.

“Rahab?”

She nodded. “Rahab killed my brother Teo; Pinem’e killed Iza.”

Beckett pulled her back to him, and held her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing her. 

“Rahab…was our brother, before the Ba’ali seduced him.” She swallowed hard and looked away.

His eyes widened with understanding and sympathy. “Ah. That explains a lot.” 

Antigone smiled sadly. “You’re one of a very few people who know about it. My sire knew, of course, and I told both Viktor and Uskanova. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry to have upset you,” he whispered, and lay back down, pulling her to him and holding her closely. 

She shook her head and leaned into him. “It’s alright. I’ve been carrying that inside me for a long, long time. I just hope that one day I can send him to the hell he deserves.”

Beckett nodded and kissed her. Feeling sleep overtaking him, he held her chin and tilted her head back so that their eyes met one last time and smiled. “A happier thought before we both fall asleep, then. I don’t think I’ve ever had a more wonderful night than tonight.”

Antigone smiled tiredly and brushed her lips across his. “Neither have I.” She lay her head down on his chest and closed her eyes, and as the first light of dawn crested the horizon, fell into a dreamless sleep.


	8. Chapter Eight

**_ ~that evening, after dusk… _ **

If last night was heaven, Antigone thought despairingly, then tonight must certainly be hell. She’d awakened with the dusk, her body entwined with his, and lay there still for a few minutes while he slept, relishing the sensation of his skin against hers and watching him sleep. A warm, blissful sensation filled her and she leaned forward to feather a kiss across his lips. 

Her reverie ended when he opened his eyes. Beckett came awake with a jolt and sat up in the bed, wild-eyed. “ **_ No! _ ** What the hell did we do?” His claws dug into the mattress and he shook with the effort of suppressing the Beast’s urge to flee.

Confused, she put a hand on his shoulder, and he twitched violently at her touch. “Beckett, what’s the matter?”

He turned to face her, visibly upset. “We drank from each other last night.”

She nodded, and he leaped out of the bed and began dressing himself. “Where are you going?”

“I…I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head. “Something is wrong, Antigone.” _ I  _ **_ can’t  _ ** _ be in love with you,  _ he thought. _ It’s impossible. It doesn’t happen. _

“What is it? Maybe I can help,” she offered. She pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, and slid her feet into a pair of slippers.

Beckett walked out to the living room and collapsed onto the couch, his head in his hands. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do.” He looked up, his face a mask of anguish. “I…well, I’m just overwhelmed by what I’m feeling…things I haven’t experienced since I was alive and was under the impression I’d never come into contact with again. Is it real? Am I truly feeling this, or is it just because I’ve drunk from you twice? Do I really care for you as much as I think I do, or am I being manipulated by the blood into thinking I do?”  _ Am I truly in love with you? And if so, then do you care for me, or is it just my blood affecting you? _ _ And if that’s the case, how can I stay with you, loving you and knowing you’re only operating under the illusion of being in love with me…  _ This train of thought was guaranteed to drive him mad. He buried his face in his hands again.

Antigone sat down beside him and put an arm around him, concerned. “Don’t you think I’ve been feeling the same sort of things you have?” she asked. “I don’t have a problem with it, and I can’t understand why you’re so upset about it.”

“We made a mistake, we never should have taken that second drink from one another,” Beckett groaned. “We’re only one drink away from a Blood Bond, for god’s sake.”

She sighed in exasperation. “You didn’t seem to have such a problem with it at the time. I don’t recall forcing you to drink from me last night.” He glared at her and clenched his fists, his eyes burning red, struggling to keep the Beast at bay. “Alright. What can we do about it?” she asked. “Is there anything that  _ can _ be done?” 

He shook his head. “I…I think I have to go. It takes at least six months for the ties from a drink of vitae to wear off; once that’s passed, if I feel any different, I’ll know it was just the blood. If not, well then, perhaps there’s more going on than I need to consider.”

  
She looked away, pain and unshed tears evident in her brown eyes. “I think you’re overreacting.” _I can’t believe this is happening,_ she thought, her heart aching.

“I’m sorry, Antigone. I just need to know if what I’m feeling is real or not. I can’t continue like this without knowing for certain if what I feel is only the result of my psyche being manipulated by the blood. I’ve been a Cainite a long time, and have never felt anything like this before. It’s not normal, no matter how good it may feel.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Does it really make that much of a difference to you, then?” She sat perched on the edge of the couch, her arms folded across her chest. 

He nodded. “I’ve always taken pride in being my own man. I can’t sit back and blindly accept that something may be causing me to feel things I don’t really feel.” Beckett stood and began pacing the length of the living room in frustration. “Can you understand that?”

“I suppose I understand what you mean, but not why. And I don’t know why you need to leave.”

Beckett sighed and looked at her. “Because I can’t say that if I spend another night with you, I won’t want to drink from you again. I want to taste you again  _ now _ , damn it. I don’t trust myself to have enough control for a single night, never mind six months.” She nodded, and he continued. “So I have to go. Are you alright with that?”

“It doesn’t make a difference to me if you leave or stay, Beckett. Do whatever you feel you need to do,” she said, throwing her hands up in frustration. 

Her words hit him like a slap in the face and stopped him in his tracks.  _ It doesn’t matter to you, does it?  _ “If that’s how you feel, then, I suppose my choice is already made.” He turned back to her once last time before heading out the door. “If I see you again, it will be sometime after six months have passed.” Beckett grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on as he walked out, pulling the door shut behind him, and told himself it was the cold air that stung his face and brought tears to his eyes. He became a wolf and headed off into the freezing  Manhattan night.

_ He left; just like that, he left me. _ Antigone sat dazed on the couch, unable to move.  _ I can’t believe he walked out like that…not after last night.  _ She hugged herself tightly and rocked back and forth on the edge of the couch, pain lancing through her soul. 

Blood tears welled from her eyes and flowed freely down her cheeks. “Damn you, Beckett,” she whispered hoarsely. “Why did you have to make me fall in love with you?” She closed her eyes, but images from the night before filled her thoughts and made the pain all the more unbearable. “Why did you let me believe you cared about me?”  _ I thought he loved me. Was it only the blood? I know it’s more than that for me… _

As much as she needed to do so, she would not hunt tonight. This night, the pain and suffering of the city’s Kine was nothing compared to her own. She sat on the couch dazed with the shock of what had happened, until finally, hours later, she dragged herself back to the bedroom and crawled beneath the covers. She groaned aloud as her head hit the pillow, for his scent as well as that of their lovemaking was everywhere. Fortunately, sleep was a given once the sun rose, and she finally passed into blissfully dreamless oblivion clutching his pillow to her chest, blood-tears staining the case of her own.


	9. Chapter Nine

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Sunday, January 4, 1998 _ **

**_ Amsterdam _ **

If he were still mortal, Beckett thought, he’d find a pub and drink himself into a stupor. The pain he felt at walking out on Antigone was like a gaping wound in his soul.  _ It had to be done, _ he told himself, but he only partly believed it. It had been three weeks already, but felt like ten times as long since he’d seen her smile or kissed her lips.

He’d expected his feeling for her to decrease in intensity the further away he got from her in time and place, but here he sat on a ledge overlooking the ice-choked canals of  Amsterdam , and the ache he felt was, if anything, stronger than it had been.  _ I love her. Whether it was the blood that made me feel that way, or if somehow that emotion wasn’t lost to me after all, does it really matter? _

A sign across the canal on Herengracht caught his eye: a rampant unicorn and a banner proclaiming the headquarters of Unicorn Trans-World Ltd.  _ They used to call the Salubri ‘Unicorns’, _ he mused.  _ Now they’re the Cyclops, or worse.  _ He looked down at his hands, the dense black fur and talons masked by the thin leather gloves he wore.  _ Can a wolf run with a unicorn and hope to survive? _ He closed his eyes, and the memory of her smile rose unbidden, and a single blood-tear formed in the corner of one of his eyes.  _ Perhaps the question should be, having run once with a unicorn, does this wolf truly wish to run alone again? _ He shook his head to clear it, and wiped the tear away. He could think of nothing or no one that had affected him thus since his Embrace, and few that did before it. 

There was nothing to do but keep moving, and let the time pass; six months had never seemed so long to Beckett before. He stood and sniffed the night air, wrinkling his nose at the smells rising off the canals, and drew his focus inward and upward. In bat-shape, he flitted across the water and headed east for the city’s edge, and when he reached the farmlands he changed to the wolf to lope further eastwards, away from the memories he was beginning to suspect he could not escape.


	10. Chapter Ten

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Friday, January 9, 1998 _ **

**_ New York _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ NY _ **

Antigone found herself falling back into the habits and patterns she’d kept before Beckett had come into her life, with one exception; she’d taken to sleeping on the couch, curled up beneath an old blanket. Tonight, she sat hunched over the keyboard of her laptop computer, re-reading an email she’d received from the Nosferatu Brimstone. While he didn’t know she was Salubri, he knew more than enough about her crusade against the Ba’ali; after all, she’d been slogging through the sewer tunnels beneath midtown hunting a rumor of their activities when she found the Ba’ali, all right, and the Nosferatu they were about to send to his Final Death. After she saved his pimply hide from destruction, he’d agreed to pass along any information to her about the Demonologists, and had been a reliable source of leads ever since. 

There were rumors; almost every night, a Cainite disappeared without a trace. Some of this could be coincidence, but she recalled what Yeqon had said about a plan to outdo the Tremere, and shuddered. The Usurpers had used Kindred to create Gargoyles; what foul plot were the Ba’ali hatching? Now the Tremere were investigating some sort of psychic power sink near  Morningside Heights ; was there a connection? She’d have to check it out. She flicked off the monitor and stood, strapping on a baldric and sheathing her kopis across her back. The blade was modern, having been made to her specifications only a year ago by a blacksmith who served the re-enactment crowd, but the design was ancient, having served the armies of  Athens and  Persia for centuries. Over that she pulled on a battered army surplus jacket, stuffing various and sundry items into pockets .Only the kopis’ pommel showed, and a flick of her hair covered that as well. 

Morningside Heights was a dangerous place to be at the moment, she decided as she ducked the third Tremere in as many hours. There was indeed a strong emanation of psychic energy in the area, and it did have the sickly-sweet aura of the Demonologists. She crouched beside a dumpster and waited for the Tremere to pass. 

“Psst! Hey, Goldilocks!” An unexpected, harsh whisper sent her into a reflexive spin that ended with the kopis drawn and the tip against the stranger’s throat. Shapeless and dressed in a battered old navy peacoat and a ratty  _ shapka _ , the stranger croaked a laugh and pushed the blade aside. “Careful where you point that thing, will ya? Somebody could get hurt.” 

Antigone caught a whiff of sulfur and relaxed. “Brimstone, you bastard; you scared the hell out of me.” She sheathed the blade and clapped him on the shoulder. 

He laughed again and smiled, exposing a row of needle-like teeth in various stages of rot. “What brings you to this lovely neighborhood tonight?” he asked. 

“You know damned well why I’m here,” she said, and crouched down again, scanning the street for the Tremere, who seemed to have vanished. 

He nodded. “This place is crawling with Warlocks. Look at that guy over there,” he motioned off in the distance. 

“Where?” she scanned the street, but saw no one.

“Over there, the one wearing the trench coat.”

She squinted hard, wishing her eyes could pierce the darkness. There…a movement in the shadow of a burned-out row house. She focused as hard as she could, and the Tremere took shape.

“Whoa! What’s up with your eyes, Goldilocks?” Brimstone’s own eyes widened.

Aghast, Antigone clapped her hand over her forehead, but her third eye remained closed. 

“They’re all glowy and shit,” he continued, apparently oblivious to her  _ faux pas _ . “I didn’t know you were a Gangrel. Thought you were Brujah, but I never saw one of  _ them _ do that with their eyes.”

“My eyes are glowing?” She blinked at the Nosferatu.

He nodded. “Not now, but when you was looking for the Warlock, they got bright red and were glowing like mad. Must be a nice trick, seeing in the dark like that.”

Beckett’s words echoed in her mind.  _ “Darksight is part of the Protean discipline as well, so we may be able to make that happen for you.”  _ She remembered Uskanova insisting that she needed to taste the elder’s blood before she’d be able to learn Animalism _. “It’s in the Blood, _ ” the Tzimisce had emphasized. So, it seemed, was Protean. 

“Uh, yeah. Comes in handy sometimes,” she muttered. “Listen, I’d love to stay and chat, but these Tremere are giving me the creeps. Let me know if you hear anything else, will you?”

“Sure thing, Goldilocks. Gonna check this here out a little more closely from below, if you catch my meaning,” he said, slapping her on the back. “Ow. Damned sword.” He winced and rubbed his arm where it had connected with the sheathed blade. “I’ll let ya know if I see or hear anything you might want to know about.”

Antigone nodded and thrust her hands into the pockets of the jacket, and slipped away towards the  116 th Street subway station. She’d take the 1 back into midtown and switch over to the D train at  Columbus Circle ; hopefully, anyone following her would be bored by then and give up, and she could make her way back home unseen.

When she finally got home, an hour before dawn, her computer was chirping incessantly. Without stopping to divest herself of jacket or weaponry, she flicked on the monitor and dismissed the pop-up telling her she had new mail.

It was from Brimstone.  _ “Too bad you didn’t stick around. Found the bastards, all right, but they were all packed up and getting ready to move. They were talking about someplace in  _ _ Philadelphia _ _ , and one of them mentioned tunnels. Thought you might want to know about that.” _

Antigone had been to  Philadelphia once before, long ago. She doubted it was anything like she recalled, and decided to spend the last hour or so before daybreak combing the internet for any information that might come in handy. She printed out a city map and subway route, and found several references to places with tunnels, most of them abandoned. Finally, she flicked the monitor off, curled up beneath the blanket in a fetal position, and drifted off into the deathlike slumber of the Cainites.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Wednesday, February 4, 1998 _ **

**_ Philadelphia _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ PA _ **

Philadelphia was a cesspit, Antigone thought with a scowl. She’d been here for a month and had spent most of that time crawling through abandoned subway tunnels, water lines and even the remains of a coal mine dating back to the colonial era. Nowhere did she find a trace of the Ba’ali. She wiped the back of her hand on her jeans and glared at her surroundings. The ruins of the  Hunting Park subway station were a filthy mess of half-frozen mud, broken glass and rat droppings, and she imagined she looked no better herself at the moment. 

A blur of movement near the tunnel entrance caught her attention, and she froze in place. A moment later, she saw a man walking in a path directly towards her. She stood and spoke. “Stay where you are. I don’t want any trouble.”

The newcomer laughed. “Neither do I. That’s why I was coming down here, figured I was the only one crazy enough to hang out in this place.” He stepped forward and pulled something out of his pocket. “Name’s Tom, by the way. Nice to meet you.” A flash of light erupted from his hand as he flicked the wheel of a cigarette lighter and a flame danced in the darkness.

Antigone instinctively flinched from the flame, and took a step back. “Umm, nice to meet you, too. Would you shut that off, please?”

He laughed again and the flame disappeared as he extinguisher the lighter. “Sorry about that. I like fire; yeah, I know, it’s a hell of a hobby for one of us.” He extended his hand to her. “I apologize. Again, I’m Tom.”

She sighed and shook his hand. “I’m Antigone. And I really must be going…” she tried to take her hand back but he held it firmly.

“A Salubri! Here, in  Philadelphia , of all places. What a wonderful surprise!” He grinned widely and bowed dramatically before her, kissing the back of her grime-spattered hand. 

She pulled her hand away with a wrench.  _ “What did you just say?” _ Her eyes narrowed and she reached for the kopis at her back.

“Take it easy, I’m a friend. The children of Malkav and Saulot stick together, ever since the  Second City , right?”

Antigone sighed.  _ A Malkavian; that figures. _ “Sorry, I’ve just seen a few too many Tremere lately. I don’t usually go around advertising my Clan, for obvious reasons.”

“Understandable. I won’t tell a soul, promise. So, what brings you to the City of  Brotherly Love , Antigone?” He flicked the lighter again and immediately looked chagrined. “Sorry.”

“I’m hunting some Ba’ali that rumor has it migrated here from  New York in the middle of November,” she said. “Rumor also has it they’re somewhere with tunnels, thus,” she gestured expansively at the ruined station around them, “my visit to this lovely place.”

“Somewhere with tunnels, hmm? Nah, couldn’t be,” he muttered, scratching his head and looking off vacantly. “That would just be way too obvious.”

“What?” He had her full attention.

“Ah, just there’s a real creepy place up in the Far Northeast with tunnels, the old  Byberry Mental Hospital . It was a real snake pit back in the day, they say.” He nudged absently at a broken bottle with the toe of his boot. “But that would be the obvious place for them to go. Nobody  _ ever _ goes to the obvious places.” He rolled his eyes, and kicked the bottle across the subway tracks.

Antigone cursed softly. “No, I bet that’s it. It fits them perfectly.” Hands on her hips, she faced the Malkavian. “Can you show me where it is?”

“Sure thing. We can catch the El to  Center City and from there jump on a train up to the Northeast. I think the closest we can get is Somerton, we’ll have to walk from there.” He looked off toward the ceiling, apparently calculating with his fingers as he spoke. “Yeah, we can get there in less than an hour, if all goes well.”

“Wonderful! Let’s get started,” she said, and followed him out of the tunnel into the night.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Thursday, February 5, 1998 _ ** **_ , around  _ ** **_ 1 AM _ **

**_ The ruins of Byberry Psychiatrist Institution,  _ ** **_ Northeast Philadelphia _ **

“Here we are,” Tom said, bowing grandly. “As promised,  Byberry Mental Hospital . The tunnels are about a quarter mile from here, but we need to cut through some of the buildings to get to them.” He strode towards a ruined brick building, and Antigone followed close behind. 

“Try to be quiet,” she said in a hushed voice. “Just in case I’m right, and they’re here. I’d rather spend tonight scouting and come back tomorrow better prepared to face them.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” he promised, flicking open the lighter and snapping it closed without igniting it. “Sorry.” He pushed the lighter into his jeans pocket and held up his empty hands. “It’s away.”

Antigone fought back a smile. “Ok then, let’s go.” They crept slowly and soundlessly through the night, climbing through a gaping hole where a window had been rather than using the door to enter the building. “The door might squeak,” Tom explained. “You never know.” She nodded and followed, careful to avoid the fragments of glass that remained in the window frame. 

They stood at one end of a long, narrow hallway; the tiled walls were covered in graffiti, the ceilings in dangerous disrepair. Faint light shone through the destroyed window at the far end that was the mirror of the one they’d entered through. “Come on,” Tom whispered, and they slipped down the hall. There was a staircase at the far end going down into blackness. “Down here,” he said, nodding. “I’m pretty sure this is the right way.”

“I thought you knew where you were going?” Antigone stopped short.

“I do…sort of. It’s hard to explain,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Try me.” She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.

Tom chewed his lip and looked away. “It’s a Malkavian thing. You’ll have to trust me on this.”

_ Great. Just fucking great, _ she thought.  _ I’m following a madman…into a madhouse _ . She chuckled at the irony and shook her head. “Alright, but you’d better be right.”

“With this sort of thing, I usually am,” he answered, and started down the stairs. “Careful, these are in pretty bad shape. Don’t fall through.”

She gingerly picked her way down the broken stairway; when she reached the bottom, Tom was slowly inching open a steel door with a narrow window of chain link and broken glass. It squealed on its hinges with every movement, but to the Malkavian’s credit, he moved it carefully enough that the sounds remained relatively low. Finally, it was ajar enough for them to slip through into the hallway beyond.

Almost no light penetrated to this floor. Antigone decided to test whether the episode with Darksight she’d had back at  Morningside Heights was a one-time thing, or indicative of a more permanent ability. She focused her vision intently into the blackness ahead, and sure enough, the outlines of the corridor and miscellaneous trash scattered in the path ahead became clearer. 

“Hmm, maybe you ought to lead the way,” Tom suggested. “I’d need to use the lighter to see down here.” 

She nodded. “Just tell me what I’m looking for,” she reminded him. He held her shoulder for guidance as they picked their way down the hall. At its end, another stairwell yawned into the blackness below.

“This is it. This is one of the tunnel entrances,” he said. “See, I told you we’d find it.”

Antigone smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry I doubted you.” He grinned and squeezed her arm, and they continued down the steps to the tunnel.

The tunnel had been carved, or more likely blasted through the limestone that lay beneath the buildings. Water dripped from the ceiling in places, puddling on the ground and streaming in rivulets down the walls. It was surprisingly well-lit, thanks to glowing moss that thrived in the dark, moist environment. A pale green light showed the way ahead, and they moved slowly forward. Antigone was painfully aware of the sound of their footfalls, which echoed along the tunnel far too loudly for her comfort.

“This place is certifiably creepy,” the Malkavian asserted. Antigone wasn’t about to argue that point at all. “There is supposed to be a whole network of tunnels down here that links all the buildings together. That’s what I’ve heard, anyways.” 

Antigone grabbed him and hissed a warning. “I think I hear something,” she whispered, extending her senses as she did.  _ There…footsteps ahead. _

She looked at him and raised a finger to her lips, mouthing the words,  _ Someone’s there. _ Tom nodded and stood still, listening, then nodded again. He held up two fingers. Antigone moved to the far wall of the tunnel, flattening herself against it, and he followed her example. They tiptoed as silently as possible ahead towards the sound.

The footsteps grew louder, and suddenly, from a side tunnel Antigone hadn’t seen stepped a pair of figures. Berith and Sitra, two of Rahab’s pack, turned and came face to face with them.

“Oh shit,” muttered Tom. “Fight or run?”

Antigone’s response was to draw the kopis in a fluid movement and swing it in a wide arc towards the Ba’ali, who were taken completely unawares. The blade bit into Sitra’s shoulder and a shower of dark vitae spattered the walls and floor of the tunnel. Sitra howled in pain and grabbed her wounded arm, while Berith drew a long dagger and crouched defensively. 

“I guess that means we fight,” the Malkavian laughed, and kicked out towards Berith, knocking the blade from his hands, and wheeling around to connect with a fist to the Ba’ali’s jaw.

Antigone swept forward, pressing Sitra up against the wall. “Where is Rahab?” she demanded. “Is he here?” The demonologist snarled and lunged forward, but she was held fast. Her fangs snapped inches from Antigone’s face as she growled and spat, struggling to get free.    
  
Berith, meanwhile, had risen to his feet and was stumbling down the hallway, trying to get away. “Stop him!” Antigone cried, and in the moment she’d turned her attention away from Sitra, the Ba’ali had wrenched herself free and threw herself on her enemy. They went down onto the wet stone floor with a crash, rolling and tumbling, Sitra’s fangs snapping in her attempts to bite the Salubri anywhere she could.

The Malkavian was off in a flash after Berith, and tackled him before he’d gotten far. He pinned the Ba’ali beneath him and grasped his head with both hands, repeatedly bashing his skull into the floor. The Ba’ali’s face was a red ruin of mangled bone and dark vitae, and after a few moments, his struggles ceased and his body crumbled into ash.

Sitra’s fangs snapped close to Antigone’s face, and the Ba’ali snarled, writhing closer, her hands seeking her opponent’s throat. Tom grasped the demonologist’s head with both hands and with a mighty wrench to the side, broke her neck. Her head flopped to the side, and Antigone threw her off, rising to her feet. The Malkavian grabbed the fallen kopis and with a wide-arcing slice, sent Sitra’s head rolling down the hall.

“God damn you! I needed information from her!” Antigone tore the kopis from his hands and held it raised and pointed at him.    


“Hey, hey, I’m a friend, remember?” Tom leaped back, arms spread and palms up. “You looked like you needed a little help there.”

Antigone growled and reached down, grasping the edge of the fallen Ba’ali’s coat and wiping the blade clean. Ashes fell from the coat sleeve, all that remained of Sitra. 

“Were they who you were looking for?” he asked. 

She nodded and sheathed the now-clean kopis at her back. “I’m looking for one Ba’ali in particular; these two were part of his pack, but I don’t know if he’s here yet.” She scowled at the Malkavian. “I suppose that means more skulking around. It’s getting late, though, and I have absolutely no intention of staying down here all day. I need to find someplace to stay.”

“You can crash at my place downtown if you want,” Tom offered. “We ought to get going soon though, so we get off the trains before the commuters start showing up.”

“Alright, then, let’s get moving,” she said, “Before anyone comes looking for these two.”

“We’ll come back again tonight,” he said. “And I promise not to kill anyone unless you say it’s okay.” He grinned and stuck his hand out to her. “Friends again?”

She gripped his hand and shook it, smiling. “Yeah, friends again. And thanks for getting her off me; I think I would have needed a rabies shot if she’d bitten me.” She followed the Malkavian back to the surface, and raced him to the subway. He won, but just barely.

They rode the train mostly in silence, and exited finally at Market East. “Home’s about six blocks from here,” he said. “If you need to grab a bite to eat,” he giggled, “this is the time for it.”

“I think I’m good.” She hadn’t used enough blood to lower her reserves enough that she needed to feed again; in another few days, she’d need to hunt, perhaps. For now, she needed to think, to plan, and then to sleep.

Once she was settled on the Malkavian’s couch, her thoughts drifted and she found herself thinking of Beckett, wondering where he was at that moment. With a sad smile on her face, she finally fell into a dreamless sleep.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Thursday, February 5, 1998 _ ** **_ , around  _ ** **_ 2 AM _ **

**_ Beneath  _ ** **_ Temple _ ** **__ ** **_ Church _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ London _ **

Beckett leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “So what you’re saying is, a drink of vitae can intensify feelings, but not create them where none exists.”

His companion nodded. “Exactly; for instance, if you had no emotional attachment to her, the most you would have gotten is a sense of closeness, of trust. However, if you already were attracted to her, physically or emotionally, the blood would intensify that. But…to get to an emotion as strong as love, there would have had to be some pretty strong feelings already extant.”

A long sigh escaped the Gangrel, and he slumped forward, elbows resting on the table, his head in his hands. “So I really am in love with her, then. Is that what you’re saying?”

Anatole laughed. “Who am I to tell you what you feel? Are you in love with her?”

“I don’t know…Yes… I think I am. But it doesn’t make sense, damn it! It goes against everything I’ve ever known and believed about our kind!” He slapped the tabletop in frustration, and the wineglasses on it jumped, threatening to spill.

The blonde Malkavian chuckled and shook his head. “And  _ I’m _ supposed to be the one who is mad. Beckett, I think you’re trying too hard. Just relax, and let be what will be.” He picked up one of the glasses, full of deep red blood-wine, watching the play of light on the liquid’s surface before draining it. “Things are seldom as complicated as we make them out to be.”

“That’s easy for you to say; you’re not the one dealing with this mess.” Beckett looked up at his friend. “So, if we assume that I am indeed in love with her,” he said, taking the other glass and sipping from it, “Then the next step is going back and somehow making amends for leaving the way I did. Easier said than done, I’m sure; she’s certainly well within her rights to be pissed at me.”   
  
”To say the very least,” added Anatole.

“You’re not helping, you know,” Beckett glared at his friend. “I thought you were on my side.”

Anatole chuckled again. “Oh, I am. I’m just playing devil’s advocate. You worry too much, Beckett. I’m serious, you need to relax. Just let things unfold as they happen.”

_ Serves me right for coming to a Malkavian for advice _ , Beckett thought, rolling his eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll have to find a flight back to  New York ; god, but I hate flying.” 

The next night saw him seated in a window seat on a British Airways jet out of Heathrow, a red-eye flight that would get him to New York around 4 AM local time; plenty of time to get from the airport back to Antigone’s home, or at the very least to a quiet patch of earth where he could wait out the day. He fidgeted restlessly in his seat for most of the trip; he’d been fortunate enough to find a first-class ticket available, so he at least didn’t have to contend with a seatmate, but the hours passed with agonizing slowness as the miles crept by over the endless waves of the  Atlantic . 

The plane landed only twenty minutes late; as soon as he exited the airport, Beckett headed for an alleyway and shifted to wolf-form. Sticking to the shadows, he raced through the streets of  Queens . When he reached the  East River , he shifted back to human form and scanned the sky to the east.  _ Not enough time, _ he thought with a sigh, seeing the faint traces of dawn on the horizon. He walked along the riverbank and found an old path that wandered off towards the palisades. Walking a few paces off the trail, he willed his body to become one with the earth, which swallowed him in its embrace for the day.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Friday, February 6, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 10 PM _ **

**_ 807 E. 87th Street _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ New York _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ NY _ **

The house was dark and silent; Antigone was evidently not at home. Knowing full well how secure the house was from unwanted entry, Beckett decided on an unconventional approach. He focused his attention and blood on becoming formless, a mote of mist floating in the night, and drifted through the small space under the front door into the vestibule, and then through the inner door into the living room.

A fine layer of dust covered the furniture. Off in the corner, her computer was chirping plaintively. “Antigone?” he called, not expecting an answer, and there was none. He crossed the room and flicked on the computer monitor. There was an email open, dated from more than a month ago; he scanned it briefly and cursed. 

_ So she’s in  _ _ Philadelphia _ _ , and from the sounds of it, so are the Ba’ali. _ He read the previous email from the same sender – _ Brimstone @ schrecknet.com, has to be a Nos _ , he mused absently- and shut off the monitor with a sigh. 

_ She’s been gone for more than a month, from the looks of it, _ he thought, collapsing on the couch.  _ That ought to make finding her an interesting prospect. I’d know her scent anywhere…  _ he thought, and made the mistake of inhaling as he did. Her scent, even a month distant, was enough to set his blood quickening. He buried his face in the pillow to escape it, but that made it even worse; she’d evidently laid her head here as well, and a single golden strand of her hair remained behind. He reached for it and wound it around his finger, closing his eyes and seeing her in his mind.

_ No rest for the wicked, _ he sighed, opening his eyes and getting to his feet.  Philadelphia was two hours away by car; the wolf would take slightly longer, but the night was yet young.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

~Friday, February 6, 1998, 11:30 PM 

The ruins of Byberry Psychiatric Institute 

The tunnel where the previous night’s skirmish had taken place was empty, save for the ashes of the Ba’ali who’d met their Final Deaths there. “I think we’re in luck. No one seems to have come by since we were here,” Antigone whispered. 

“Good. Now we just need to find out where they came from, and where they were going.” Tom clicked the silver Zippo case open and closed, but refrained from flicking the wheel to light it. Which is a good thing, because that is getting old real fast, Antigone thought. 

“Well, it looked like they were headed right for us, and the only place they could have gone from there is back to the surface, where we came from. I’d rather know where they came from. If the Ba’ali are setting up their new headquarters here, I’d like to find out where.” She knelt beside Sitra’s ashes, digging through the pockets of the fallen Cainite’s trenchcoat. “Aha! What’s this?” She pulled a small glass tube out of a concealed inner pocket and held it up to examine it. It was stoppered with a glass plug and thickly sealed with wax, and about halfway filled with an effervescent green liquid. “This is the same stuff they were using back in New York. I’ll need to get this to someone who can take a look at it and tell me what it is, and more importantly, why they’ve got it and what they’re doing with it.” She tucked the tube into a chest pocket of her army jacket and snapped the pocket shut to secure it. 

“It looks like Mountain Dew,” Tom snickered. 

She glared at him. “Want to drink it and find out?” 

He laughed again, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m not that crazy.” 

They continued down the tunnel, but it forked several times and they had no way of knowing which turns the Ba’ali had taken. Antigone cursed under her breath. “It’s going to take forever to find them down here,” she sighed. “You know, Tom, you don’t have to do this. Now that I know where they are, I can just keep looking for them.” 

The Malkavian shook his head. “I told you, the children of Malkav and Saulot stick together. Unless you don’t want me along..?” 

Antigone smiled. “No, you’re welcome to come along. I’m glad you’re here; well, as long as you leave that damned lighter alone.” He had clicked it open and his finger was on the wheel; he flipped the cover back and pocketed the lighter, sticking his tongue out at her. She laughed and shook her head. “Come on, we have at least three or four more hours before we have to head out of here for the night.” She stopped at an intersection and gazed down its length, her eyes glowing with Darksight. “Hmm, let’s try down here,” she said, taking the corner and stepping into the side tunnel. 

The ground was a little drier here; the walls were coated with a wash of cement in places over the limestone, and the water seeped through less than it had in the main tunnel. At the end of the tunnel was a stairway leading up. They ascended the staircase, which emerged into a large room that at one time had been the institution’s kitchen. There were still no traces of the Ba’ali. A small corridor lead out of the room into a dining room, where there was a steel door secured by chains and a padlock. The glass in the door was reinforced with chain link, and was unbroken. 

Tom ran a finger over one of the links of the door chain. “This is new,” he said. “There’s no rust on it. Someone placed this recently.” 

“That’s meant to keep people out. They can’t be using this as an entrance, then,” Antigone mused. “Let’s try upstairs.” 

They searched the upper floor without success. “We should follow the tunnel back and mark it somehow, so we know we searched it already,” Tom commented. 

She nodded. “That’s a good idea. Let’s do that, and we’ll come back tomorrow night. Hopefully, we’ll have more luck then.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**_ Somewhere in  _ ** **_ Northeast Philadelphia _ **

Beckett threw back his head and howled in frustration. He’d picked up her scent after awhile, but it lead him back and forth to all corners of  Philadelphia , and he was no closer to finding her than he’d been back in  Manhattan .  _ What the hell did she do, comb the city block by block? _ he thought in frustration, snapping his teeth at the cold wind that rose off the  Schuylkill River . The problem wasn’t finding a trace of her; it was figuring out which were the most recent. There was at most an hour left before dawn; catching another trace of her scent on the wind, the wolf set off to the northeast, growling to himself.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Saturday, February 7, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 9 PM _ **

**_ The ruins of Byberry Psychiatric Institute _ **

As soon as it was fully dark, they left the Malkavian’s haven and headed back to the tunnels. They passed the one they’d marked from the previous night and headed another hundred yards to a side tunnel branching to the left. Antigone made a small star on the wall at eye level using a permanent marker; it blended with the general weathering and grime of the wall, so unless someone was specifically looking for a mark, it should go unnoticed.

As they made their way, they passed several small rooms on either side of the passage, some with closed doors, others with them hanging broken on the hinges. The tunnel seemed to be sloping downward slightly. Antigone stopped every few yards to listen and peer ahead into the darkness, but there were no signs to indicate anyone had passed this way in recent days. She stopped and stood still, extending her awareness around her, and nearly shrieked. Dozens, hundreds of voices assailed her senses, wailing, laughing, moaning, screaming. Abruptly and forcefully, she pulled her awareness back into herself and shuddered.

“Ahh…don’t do that. I tried that the first time I came here; it’s not a good idea.” Tom put a hand on her shoulder, and Antigone realized she’d sank to her knees. She stood, dusting off her jeans, and nodded, swallowing hard. 

The tunnel ended at a wall set with a steel door. Antigone put her ear against the door and listened, extending her senses with her blood. There…was that a voice? It was hard to tell, even with her enhanced hearing. She turned back to Tom and whispered, “I think I heard someone, but I’m not sure.”

He nodded and stepped closer to the door and listened as well. After a few moments, he nodded again. “I think you’re right.” Meeting her eyes, he whispered, “So what’s the plan?”

“We need to find out who’s there. It could be anyone, for all we know. I want to avoid a confrontation if at all possible, so if we can do this without being seen or heard, that’s Plan A.”

“What’s Plan B?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Kick some ass and run like Hell.”

He smirked. “I like Plan B better than Plan A.”

Antigone rolled her eyes. “Ideally, what I want to do is find out how many of them are here and what their plans are. If there are only a couple of them in there, and it comes to a fight, please try to leave at least one for questioning.”

The Malkavian nodded, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. “Alright, I’ll try.”

Swallowing hard, Antigone grasped the knob and turned it, and pushed open the door.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Saturday, February 7, 1998 _ ** **_ , around  _ ** **_ midnight _ **

**_ The ruins of Byberry Psychiatrist Institution,  _ ** **_ Northeast Philadelphia _ **

Antigone pushed open the door, and was blinded by the sudden flash of bright light from the room on the other side. She stumbled to her knees, and Tom stepped around her into the room.

It was full of Ba’ali. In the center of the room was a stone altar, much like the one she’d cut Beckett loose from. An unfortunate vampire was tied and staked there, and a Ba’ali she didn’t recognize was carving sigils into the victim’s flesh. Another Ba’ali followed each incision with a stream of the green substance. The rest of them appeared to be mesmerized by the process with a twisted sort of religious fervor. No one seemed to have noticed the pair’s entry into the room.

Antigone crawled to her feet and crouched with her back against the wall, studying the scene before her. A laboratory table out of an alchemist’s nightmare stood next to the altar, a large vat of the vile liquid bubbling and steaming besides an array of surgical instruments. Small beakers filled with liquids of a variety of colors were arranged off to one side, and a plate with what looked like powdered copper was set to the other.

The door closed with a metallic click. The Ba’ali turned as one.

“Oh shit,” Antigone murmured.  _ These are  _ **_ not _ ** _ what I’d call good odds.  _ “Run!” she hissed at Tom, and grabbed for the door handle. It was locked. “What the fuck..!” she tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge. She yanked hard on it, and the handle came off in her hands. By that time, the Ba’ali had them surrounded.

“What have we here? Visitors? Have you come to witness our triumph, or merely to volunteer to be a part of it?” the lead Ba’ali said, smiling broadly. “Come, see what wonders we have wrought,” he said, gesturing them over to the table. The Ba’ali pressed them forward, and they had no choice but to step closer to the altar.

The vampire staked there was naked, but covered from head to toe with sigils carved into his flesh. His eyes were wells of pain and terror. “For untold years, we have sought to bring our masters into this world,” the Ba’ali said, his voice trembling with emotion. “Mortals proved to be inferior vessels. It was only recently, however, that the Elixir was discovered that would allow a demon to join with a Cainite host.”

_ Oh shit. This is going from bad, straight past worse to fucked-up, _ Antigone gulped. She looked around; they were outnumbered more than five to one. She’d go down, but at least she’d go down fighting; with any luck, she’d take a few of them with her. She turned to look at Tom and nodded, hoping he would understand.

With a roar, she turned and launched a punch into the face of the Ba’ali behind her. He staggered, giving her just enough time to run back towards the door.  _ I’ll kick it in if I have to,  _ she thought. She turned back, and saw to her horror that Tom had charged towards the laboratory table. She and the head Ba’ali both screamed, “No!” in unison.

Tom brushed the lighter open against the leg of his jeans as he ran, and then once again to ignite it. The leader’s face contorted into a mask of terror and desperation as he tried to stop the Malkavian. Tom twisted in the air and avoided his grasp, and landed on his feet atop the table, the lighter flaming brightly. He smiled and dropped it into the bubbling green vat.

The concussive force of the blast sent Antigone hurtling backwards into and through the half-rotted wall into the tunnel beyond. She instinctively threw up her hands to protect her face, curled into a ball and tried to roll with the fall, but still landed sprawled prone on the ground. Broken glass and parts of the former wall, wood splinters from the framing, sheetrock and fractured tiles, littered the floor. Tiny pieces of each had imbedded themselves in her flesh, and she bled from a hundred tiny wounds. She’d been standing back far enough from the altar that the flames hadn’t reached her, but she’d sustained flash burns to the exposed skin of her hands; it had cracked and peeled, and precious vitae oozed out from the fissures in her flesh. Shaking her head to clear it, she tried to focus on staunching the bleeding, but it took three tries before she could gain enough clarity to do so. She tried to raise herself up, but her left wrist would not cooperate; the hand flopped uselessly, the wrist bones shattered into ruin. Again she focused, but healing this injury proved beyond her abilities at the present. 

Using the kopis for leverage (she winced at doing so, but she had no other recourse), and with only her right hand, she raised herself up enough to kneel and survey her surroundings.

The hallway had been nearly obliterated by the explosion. The ceiling was blasted away in a large section, and she could see the night sky through a gaping hole. The altar, along with the Ba’ali and their victim, was completely destroyed. Ashes blew across the floor as a chill breeze passed through from above. Antigone found a small section of wood that had probably been wall or ceiling framing, and tore a strip from the hem of her shirt. Using these, she fashioned a makeshift splint and bound her wrist to it with the fabric, tying the knot with her right hand and teeth. It hurt like hell, but it would heal eventually; for now, it was out of the way. 

She wobbled a bit as she rose to her feet, still using the sword for balance. Any thrusting point the blade might have had was long gone, she thought with a grimace, but the edge should still be sufficient to do its job. 

_ That is, if there are any Ba’ali left, after what just happened.  _

Faint moonlight filtered in through the broken windows and various holes in the walls. Something glinted a few feet ahead, and she staggered forward to investigate. It was the Malkavian’s lighter.  _ Probably all that’s left of him, _ she thought, shaking her head.  _ I’m not sure if what you did was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen or the stupidest, but wherever you are, Tom, I wish you well.  _ She picked up the lighter and tucked it in the pocket of her jeans. 

The only sound was the wind sighing through the naked tree branches outside, and the creak of the violated structure as it settled. With some difficulty, she sheathed the blade at her back and walked back to the stairs, taking them slowly and carefully. Her back ached where she’d been propelled through the wall, her wrist throbbed with agony, and her ears still rang from the explosion. She reached the ground floor and shouldered the door open, stepping out into the night with a sigh of relief. 

The stars shone white and cold overhead as she picked her way through the overgrown tangle of snow-covered weeds towards the small patch of woods. Once under the shelter of the trees, she leaned against a gnarled oak and closed her eyes, listening. Gradually, the ringing in her ears faded. Off in the distance, a dog barked. The whistle of a train echoed across the frozen landscape. The hum of traffic on  Roosevelt Boulevard was a susurrant whisper far to the east. A police siren wailed, getting louder as it grew closer. There: the flashing lights cut through the night as the patrol car rounded the corner and pulled up beside the abandoned buildings.

A single officer got out of the car and walked over to the building, shaking his head. A moment later, he reached for his radio. “Ten-four, this is Dominic. I’m up at Byberry, and there’s nothing here. Probably the usual shit the neighborhood kids pull. I’m out of here.” 

The radio squawked back. “Ten-four, Dom, I hear you. Come on back.” The officer headed back to the car, and Antigone stepped out of the darkness.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said in the most helpless-female tone she could manage. “Did you hear a loud noise around here a few minutes ago?” He turned sharply and relaxed when he saw her. “Are you alright, ma’am? We had a report of a disturbance in the area and were just checking it out.”

She nodded and walked towards him. “I’m ok. I heard a really loud noise, and I wondered what it was, so I came outside to check.” She motioned with her right hand off to the west, back towards the houses a quarter mile or so away. “Could you give me a ride back home? It’s awfully cold.”

He nodded, and by this time she was almost standing next to him. “Sure thing, ma’am. Where do you live?” 

“Over there,” she gestured, and when he turned to look she grabbed him. Pinning him against the patrol car, she slipped her fangs into his throat and let the sweet hot blood flow into her mouth. The cop didn’t struggle; the Kiss was blissful, after all. She drank enough to heal her wounds and sustain her for another few nights, but not enough to cause any lasting harm. When she’d finished, she opened the passenger door of the patrol car and hoisted him into the seat, then walked back around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. 

She drove about a mile away and pulled into the dark and silent parking lot of a strip mall on  Roosevelt Boulevard . She moved him into the driver’s seat and locked the doors with him inside before setting off across the lot. After stopping at an ATM to withdraw some cash, she walked half a mile to a motel, where she paid for a week’s lodging. An extra hundred passed to the front desk clerk insured that he’d keep quiet about the pale woman with burned hands, smelling of copper and smoke, who’d rented room eight.

The room was cleaner than the floors at Byberry had been, at least, she mused as she closed and locked the door behind her after hanging the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside. As an added measure against overzealous maids (although she strongly doubted their presence, given the state of the room), she wedged the room’s single chair under the door and made certain the curtains were drawn tight. With some difficulty, she slipped out of the jacket and removed the leather baldric that bound the sword to her back. She kicked off her sneakers and turned to regard her image in the mirror. 

_ First, a shower; might as well wash the clothes, too,  _ she thought. She turned the water on as hot as it would go and stepped under it fully clothed, rubbing the small bar of soap over the worst of the stains on the jeans and shirt. Once these were as clean as they were going to get this way, she stripped them off and scrubbed her body, not an easy task to perform one-handed. Finally, she set the stopper on the tub and let it fill with hot water, and settled in the tub to soak. When the water covered her to her chest, she turned it off and lay back, concentrating on her injured wrist. 

It took some doing, but she managed to repair the pulverized bones and repair the muscles and ligaments that had torn. By now, the water was cool, and she stood and grabbed a towel, drying herself off with both hands. The left was still sore, but fully functional. The burns were still painful, but those would have to heal with time. It would be about a week, she expected, before she’d be fully recovered. She hung the wet clothes over the shower bar to dry, and crawled beneath the covers of one of the room’s twin beds. 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Friday, February 13, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 7:00 PM _ **

She woke with the dusk and donned her cleaner (but still badly stained) clothing, arranged her weapons, and pulled her hopelessly tangled hair back in a queue. It took her the better part of an hour to get back to Byberry, and when she finally got there, she found that she was not alone.

“What the fuck happened here?” A strange voice, not one she recognized; but the answering voice she knew as well as her own.

“Looks like someone lit a match too close to the Elixir. Serves them right, the fools; what were they doing playing with fire, anyway?” 

Antigone crouched in the shadows of a ruined outbuilding and watched the two Ba’ali argue from the second floor of the building closest to her. Their voices carried faintly through the broken windows; with a small surge of her blood, she amplified her hearing so that she might have been standing right next to them, so clear was their conversation.

“Do you think somebody knows we’re here? Iblis wouldn’t have stood for any shit from his pack, you know that as well as I do, and his ashes are here with theirs. I can’t see this being an accident.”

Rahab nodded. “You may be right. I thought our arrival here went unnoticed, but there’s always a chance someone found us. Local Kindred, maybe; I’ve heard there’s Garou around as well.”

“What about your sister? We found her blood back at the catacombs where Yeqon and his coven bought it.”

“Oh, I hope so,” he laughed. “I would dearly love to send her to join the rest of her clan in extinction.” He smiled wickedly and clapped the other Ba’ali on the shoulder. 

“So, is the Elixir that unstable? I hadn’t heard anything about it being prone to explosion.” The stranger seemed concerned, and given the state of his late clanmates, rightfully so. 

Rahab shook his head. “Only when exposed to fire, and only natural fire at that. Magical fire doesn’t affect it. When we developed it, we decided it was worth the risk, since the chances of one of us suddenly deciding to turn pyromaniac were slim to none.”

Antigone leaned back into the shadows and closed her eyes. He was here. But she would not confront him tonight, for there were things she would need to do to prepare; tomorrow, then. She patted the vial of the Elixir in her chest pocket and resolved again to find someone who could analyze it. Silently, she slipped away.

_ I need to find someplace to stay, _ she thought. The week at the motel had been a necessary luxury; she’d needed a place she could rest undisturbed while she healed. Now, however, she needed someplace closer to her quarry. She flexed her left hand and rotated the wrist; everything was in good working order, although it was still a bit tender. She scouted around the industrial park that bordered the ruins, and found an empty warehouse that might serve as a temporary shelter. There was an office with a door that could be locked; she’d need blankets or the like to black out the windows, but otherwise, it would do.

There were things she’d need to have if she were to stay here; she had no option other than to find somewhere to get them. She could pass as a mortal if she willed enough blood near to the surface of her skin to give it some color, and if she avoided close scrutiny. If she recalled correctly, there were some shops along  Roosevelt Boulevard , which lay only a quarter mile or so away; she should be able to get what she required and return with plenty of time to make her preparations for tomorrow.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Friday, February 13, 1998 _ ** **_ , almost  _ ** **_ midnight _ **

Her scent led him to a run-down warehouse, the last in a row of long-abandoned buildings at the end of a cul-de-sac. A faint light shone through the remains of broken windows near the back. Scrutinizing the building briefly, he noticed a hole in the roof and decided that would be the easiest means of entry; a moment later, he flitted through the opening as a bat. He came back to his own form about twenty feet away from where she was sitting tailor-fashion, sharpening the blade of her kopis, a hooded Coleman lantern beside her. 

"Hello, Beckett," she said without looking up, and continued to slide the whetstone over the steel. The blade looked sharp enough to wound the wind. "What do you want?" 

Beckett rocked back on his heels. "First of all, I owe you an apology for running out like I did," he began, but she cut him off.

"Not necessary." Her eyes were as cold as the steel in her hands, her face an impassive mask as she continued her work without hesitation, as if he wasn't there.

_ What did you expect? That she would run to you with open arms? _ Beckett scolded himself but admitted that, although an unlikely scenario, it had been exactly what he'd been hoping for.

"Nevertheless, I am truly sorry." He sighed and gave a wry smile. "I discovered fairly quickly that  **_ what _ ** I felt was far more important than  **_ why _ ** I was feeling it. So, I'm back...if you'll still have me." 

"It's only been two months, you know."

He sighed again and spread his hands in resignation. "I don't care. That doesn't matter to me anymore."  _ It feels more like two  _ **_ decades _ ** _ since I last held you, _ he thought, but refrained from saying so.

She looked up at last and met his eyes, and the ghost of a smile flickered across her face. "How did you find me?" she asked, and went back to sharpening the blade.

"I figured you’d probably followed up on Brimstone’s lead and gone to  Philadelphia ," he replied. Surprise registered on her face as he continued, "You were still logged into your computer, and you'd left that e-mail open. Have you managed to find out where the Ba'ali are holed up?" 

Antigone nodded. "They’re set up at an abandoned psychiatrist hospital about a mile from here." She looked up again, a grim set to her features. "Rahab is there. Tomorrow night, either he or I will meet our Final Death." 

He crouched down beside her and reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. "You won't be fighting alone."

"He's mine. Kill him, and I'll never forgive you. I've hunted him for longer than you can imagine, and I swore an oath that it would be my hand that sent him to Hell," she snarled, a fierce light in her eyes. 

Beckett nodded. "I understand. He's all yours." This was the closest to the surface he’d seen the Beast in her; he was reminded abruptly that although the woman he loved might be a healer, she was still a Cainite. 

“As long as we’re clear on that, you’re welcome to come along,” she said, reaching for the wood and leather scabbard and sliding the kopis into it. She set the sheathed blade aside and stood, stretching. “Welcome back.”

He reached for her with some hesitation, but she stepped into his embrace readily and he held her tightly in silence, just relieved to touch her at last. He could sense that her coolness was a fragile façade, that she was truly glad to see him; but if it made her feel better to pretend otherwise, he’d let her get away with that…for now. He thought of several things to say, but discarded them all almost immediately, for fear of destroying the moment. Right now, all he wanted to do was hold her.

Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Can I ask you something?” he said, afraid he wouldn’t like the answer but needing to know.

Antigone nodded. “Sure.”

“One of the last things you said to me, that if I left or stayed, it would make no difference to you either way…did you mean that?”

She smiled sadly and looked him in the eye. “Yes, but I was afraid you wouldn’t take it the way that I meant it.” He raised his eyebrows, and she continued. “It made no difference to me if you were with me or not,  _ my _ feelings weren’t going to change. Your leaving wasn’t going to make me feel any less for you than if you stayed. What mattered most was that you were making yourself miserable, and there was nothing I could do or say to stop that.”

“Ah. I think I understand now. I assumed you meant that you didn’t  _ care _ if I stayed or not.” 

Antigone shook her head. “No. I just knew no other way to express how I felt.”

Before he could stop them, the words tumbled out. “I thought you didn’t care…”

She took his face in her hands and looked deep into his eyes, her own dark pools of emotion. “Nothing could be further from the truth.” He saw reflected there that her misery at their separation had matched his own, and released a sigh he hadn’t realized he was holding. She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his, and he kissed her hungrily, crushing her body against his.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “I missed you terribly.”  _ I love you, _ he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You came back. That’s all that matters,” she murmured, resting her forehead against his chest and running her fingers along his spine. He pulled her closer and held her, content to do nothing more than breathe in her scent and feel her arms around him. 

The stars wheeled overhead and the moon grew low to the horizon, and still they stood holding one another in silence. As the sky in the east began to grow light, she stepped away from him and beckoned him to follow, leading him to the far corner of the warehouse where she’d set up a makeshift shelter in an office. “There ought to be more than enough room for the two of us in here,” she said, and he nodded. She’d blocked off the windows with some heavy blankets, and an air mattress piled with comforters was set in the furthest corner away from them. She kicked off her sneakers and took off her jacket, but kept on the jeans and sweater she was wearing when she climbed beneath the covers. Beckett did the same, and hesitantly moved to put an arm around her waist and pull her closer. 

“I missed you, too,” she whispered, “a lot.” She reached for his hand and twined her fingers with his, and he squeezed her hand gently.

He kissed her hair and held her tighter, and sleep claimed them both as the sun crested the horizon outside the warehouse.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**_ ~ _ ** **_ Saturday, February 14, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 7:30 PM _ **

**_ Byberry Psychiatric Institution _ **

As they walked towards the ruined buildings of Byberry, Antigone told him about what had happened the previous week; her long and fruitless search, her meeting with Tom, the skirmish with Berith and Sitra, and the last fateful trip to the tunnels that had ended in the explosion and the Final Deaths of a large number of Ba’ali as well as the Malkavian.

“So basically, he suicided,” Beckett said. 

“I don’t know if I’d call it that. It was more like he chose to sacrifice himself to destroy the Elixir.”

“I wonder how he knew the stuff would go up?”

She bit her lip and blinked back tears. “He probably would have said it was a Malkavian thing…that he ‘just knew.’ I still can’t believe he did that.” She’d replayed the scene countless times in her mind since the explosion, and admitted there had been no other way that the entire Ba’ali pack as well as the Elixir could have been destroyed. Still, in the short time she’d known Tom, he’d become a friend, and she wished there’d been some other solution, one that could have gotten them out with both their unlives intact.

They reached the first outlying building and went inside. Antigone led the way through the darkness, holding Beckett’s hand.

“I can see in the dark, you know.”

She turned back to him, and he started in surprise at the red glow from her eyes. “So can I,” she grinned. 

“When..?”

“While you were away; it just sort of happened one night when I was trying to see in the dark.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m guessing it’s because I’d tasted your blood that I could do it. I had to drink from Uskanova to learn Animalism from her.”

Beckett nodded absently. “I suppose so. The next step is learning this,” he freed his hand from hers and held it up, letting the long claws sprout from his fingers. “They make a weapon every bit as deadly as your sword.”

She reached out and touched his hand. “Does it hurt?” she asked.

“It doesn’t hurt me, if that’s what you mean. It hurts the people I claw with them like Hell, though,” he chuckled. 

They reached the branching tunnels and Antigone found the mark she’d left days before. “There’s probably nothing left where the explosion was, but I want to see it again,” she explained, and he followed her to the end. The door was gone, blasted off its hinges, and the wall was missing in large places. Moonlight streamed in from above where the ceiling had been blasted away. The room had been scoured, though; not a trace of the Cainites that had died there remained.

“It looks like they beat us to it,” Beckett noted. 

Antigone nodded. “I think I expected as much. They were talking last night about the explosion; this was a Pack I didn’t recognize. The leader was someone named Iblis, from the sound of things.” 

“ _ Iblis _ is the Arabic name for the devil,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I know. They’re all named for demons and devils.” She left the ruined room and retraced their path back to the main tunnel. “So it’s back to looking for them. It took us a couple of days the last time.”

Beckett smiled. “It won’t take us nearly that long. They were here recently enough that their scent is still detectable; I should be able to track them without much difficulty.” He thought for a moment, and then decided. “It will be easiest in wolf form. Follow me,” he said, and shifted his form. Raising his nose in the air, he caught the faintest trace of scent, and trotted back down the tunnel.

He stopped at the next side tunnel and strode a few paces in, sniffing the air, then turned and went back to the main tunnel.  _ They didn’t go down there. Perhaps here…  _ Another side passage; this one held a stronger scent, and he looked at Antigone and nodded.  _ This way. _

She followed him closely, his form pale in the luminescent glow of the tunnel moss.  _ Tonight…after all these years, I will finally face him again.  _ The last time she and her brother had met, she’d barely escaped. It had been blind luck that a church was nearby; she’d learned early on that Ba’ali could not enter sacred ground without taking serious injury. She’d crouched hidden beneath the altar all day, barely able to sleep. It had taken more than a month for her wounds to heal.

Her reminiscing came to an abrupt end as Beckett halted before a door and reverted to human form. She barely stopped in time to avoid plowing into him. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “They’re in the next room. From the sounds of it, there are three of them.”

Antigone nodded and whispered back, “Rahab is mine.”

“I know. I’ll take the other two, then,” he said, and winked. “Let’s do this.” 

She unsheathed the kopis and held it ready, and he kicked the door into splinters.

Three very startled Ba’ali turned to face them. Beckett’s eyes widened; it was all too obvious which one was Rahab, as he could have been Antigone’s twin. The Gangrel turned his attention to the other two, and let the talons sprout once more from his fingers as he moved to engage them.

“My darling sister! How good to see you again,” Rahab said with a wide smile, his arms spread wide. “It’s been so long.”

“Spare me,” she growled. “I’m here to kill you, you bastard.”

“But, Ania…” he said, “What if I told you I was sorry?”

“ _ What?” _ her sword wavered for a moment. She glanced to the side; Beckett was making short work of the other two Ba’ali. “I don’t believe you,” she said, shaking with barely controlled rage. The Beast hammered in her soul to be set free, to rend, to destroy.

“It’s true,” he said, and dropped the knife he’d been holding, spreading his hands wide.

"It’s too late for that. After all these years, finally Teo and Iza can rest in peace." 

Rahab dropped to his knees before his sister. "I'm sorry, I swear it. I can't forgive myself, but I can ask you to forgive me." 

She sneered. "Do you think me an even bigger fool than I am? No, the time for forgiveness is long since past." She raised the blade and stepped forward. 

"Please! I beg you!" The Ba'ali threw himself prone at her feet. "In our father's name I beg you to let me prove myself to you." 

"You dare..." Her lips curled in a snarl and her fangs lengthened. The Beast howled closer and closer to the surface.

Rahab clutched at her feet. "Ania, I beg you!" He sobbed. "Forgive me!" Tears of blood ran freely down his face as he looked up beseechingly. 

_ Could he truly feel remorse? _ A small piece of her soul that was still free of the Beast wondered. She had to know for certain; her oath demanded it of her. She could not kill him with any doubt in her mind. Crouching down to face him, she grasped his chin and turned his face roughly to hers. 

Faster than she could have imagined, he reached towards his boot and came up bearing a wickedly curved dagger. Before she had time to register that he was attacking her, he'd sliced her open from sternum to navel with one sweep of the blade. She shrieked and clutched at her chest as dark blood welled forth, and collapsed face-down upon the floor. 

Rahab leaped to his feet crowing a laugh of triumph. "Finally! I am free of you!" He heard a guttural snarl from his left and turned just as Beckett collided with him shoulder-first, knocking him to the ground. As they wrestled, Rahab inched the knife close to his opponent's throat while the Gangrel's claws sought his own. 

Beside them, Antigone stirred and rose slowly to her knees, trembling hands pressed against her chest and abdomen. Brilliant golden light radiated from her three eyes as she struggled to heal the terrible wound; already, she'd stopped bleeding and the torn tissue started to knit itself back together. "Damn it, he's mine," she wheezed. "Don't you dare kill him." She tried to gain her feet but failed, falling back to the floor again. All three eyes closed as a spasm of pain wracked her. 

Beckett maintained his grip on the Ba'ali's knife-hand but released the other as he shifted his weight and rolled over to pin him; with the claws of his now-free right hand, he slashed at the muscles and tendons of his enemy's legs, hamstringing him. Rahab gasped in agony and dropped the knife, and Beckett took advantage of the moment to shove him off balance and away from him. "Take your time. He’s not going anywhere." The Ba’ali fell with a dull crash to the floor.

She nodded and reached blindly for the kopis, using it for leverage as she rose shaking to her feet. Blood covered her from head to foot, and when she opened them, a fell light was in her eyes. "Time to die, you bastard." 

"You….you wouldn't want to be a fratricide…" Rahab gasped, a thin stream of blood trickling from his mouth as he tried to wriggle away from her. "Damned for all time…" 

Antigone snorted in derision, but the effort cost her and she leaned heavily on the sword. "You tell can the Erinyes I said hello, then, when you see them." With effort, she stood erect and grasped the weapon with both hands, swaying slightly before recovering enough to advance a step towards him. "I'm sure they'll be glad to see you after all this time." 

The Ba'ali tried to gain his feet, but his ruined muscles and tendons would not obey him. She took another halting step towards him and her third eye opened, blazing with the golden light of vengeance. He raised his arm to shield himself, panic in his eyes, as she lifted the kopis with trembling arms. 

She closed her eyes save for the one in the center of her forehead, and brought the blade down. As it bit into the flesh of his throat, she whispered, "Goodbye, Polynices," crimson tears streaming down her cheeks, and then crumbled in a lifeless heap onto the cold floor. 

Beckett was at her side instantly. He pulled her to him and panicked when her head lolled back nervelessly. The horrible wound to her chest had reopened, and fresh blood stained the front of her ruined t-shirt. "Antigone! Wake up!" he shouted hoarsely, shaking her. She did not respond. "Come on, you need to wake up, you have to heal yourself. I don't know how." 

He was losing her. "Damn it, Antigone! Don't do this to me," his voice broke into a sob as he clutched her to him. She needed blood; she'd lost so much in the fight, and had used what reserves she had earlier to heal herself enough to finish the job. But there was no other source of blood nearby, unless… 

"It's the only way," he whispered to himself as he raised his wrist to his mouth and tore it open, his dark blood pouring free. He lowered it to her lips and pressed it tightly against them, letting the precious liquid flow into her mouth. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, he finally felt a gentle pressure as she weakly suckled at his wrist, drinking in more of his vitae. Her eyes opened and met his, and he sighed with relief. "I thought I'd lost you," he murmured, leaning close to kiss her cheek. 

She licked his wound closed and struggled to a sitting position. "You very nearly did," she said, her voice cracking as she spoke. She turned to look at him, her eyes burning with emotion. "Dear gods, what have you done?  _ What the Hell have you done?" _

"I had no choice!"

"You could have let me go," she whispered, her eyes never leaving his. _ I am bound to him now,  _ she thought, and she felt it with every part of her, body, mind and soul.

"No!" he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. "No, I couldn't." 

She pushed him away gently and faced him again. "I'm not saying you  _ should _ have; just that you  _ could _ have." 

He shook his head and silently mouthed  _ No _ . Antigone reached up to brush a bloody tear from the corner of his eye. "No." He rubbed his eyes to clear the red film over his vision, and looked into her eyes again. "I…I love you," he whispered, trembling. And it was true; he could feel the truth in the words as he spoke them.

Antigone's mouth opened in an O, her eyes wide. 

"I'm sorry…" he started to say, but was interrupted as she threw her arms around him and kissed him. 

"It's alright," she murmured between kisses. “I love you too. It didn't take a third or even a second drink to make that happen; I felt it before then. It's not because of the blood, I know it. It's because of  _ you _ ."

A rush of emotion flooded Beckett, sweeter and purer than anything he'd ever remembered feeling in all the days before or since his Embrace, save perhaps on the night they’d made love. He whispered her name and took her in his arms, kissing her over and over. 

After an eternity of kisses, he broke away and examined where she'd been injured. "You still need to finish healing that," he said, concern in his voice. "Do what you can now, and let's get you home." 

She nodded. "I should be able to patch myself up pretty good now, but I am going to need to feed soon." Her third eye opened as she ran her hands over the jagged tear in her flesh, repairing muscles and blood vessels before mending the skin and closing the wound completely. Beckett watched with fascination as she healed her injuries, and helped her to her feet when she was done. Once she was standing on her own, he bent down and retrieved her sword from amidst a pile of ash. 

"I heard what you said to him at the end. Polynices, hmm?" She nodded again. "Am I correct in assuming that was not just a metaphorical reference?" 

“Yes. That was his name, long ago and far away." She looked off in the distance, lost in memories.

"Then…you truly  _ are _ Antigone. Antigone of Thebes, daughter of…"

She nodded again and turned back to him. "…Oedipus and Jocasta. Sister of Teo and Iza; that is, Eteocles and Ismene, and of Polynices, or Rahab as he renamed himself after his Embrace." 

"My god," he whispered. "You had to have been Embraced at least three thousand years ago." 

"Not quite. To my nearest reckoning, it's been about twenty-three centuries, but I've slept for more than two-thirds of that." She tried to walk, but stumbled and would have fallen were he not there to catch her. "I think I'm going to need help getting out of here," she said, grimacing. 

"Allow me," he smiled, and swept her up into his arms. "I do enjoy playing the gentleman from time to time, you know." She chuckled and rested her head on his chest, her arms around his shoulders. "And once you've replaced all the blood you lost tonight, I fully intend to drink from you again, and make the Bond a mutual one." He grinned and kissed her. "And to think that the world takes Sophocles for a writer of fictional drama." 

"It  _ was _ fiction, damn it," she said, "For one thing, I obviously wasn't a suicide. And Creon was much more of a bastard than he portrayed." 

"How much of it was true?" Beckett asked as he carried her.

She thought for a moment. "Not a whole lot. But even though he got the facts wrong, he did capture the true spirit of things. They did try to wall me up alive, but they hadn't reckoned on Enkidu." At Beckett's quizzical look, she added, "My sire. He'd been watching me for a few months and that night decided to Embrace me. We left  Greece that night and I didn't return for centuries." 

He shouldered open the door and stepped outside, then set her down on her feet, "My curiosity being what it is, I am going to be asking you a million questions." 

She swayed slightly on her feet, and he caught her. “I want to go home,” she said, shivering. 

Beckett nodded. “Do you want to stay somewhere around here for now, and head back to  Manhattan tonight?

“No. I just want to go home.” He tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. “Please, Beckett,” she whispered.

“All right, I can probably hotwire a car for us.” She frowned at him, and he sighed. “What is it?”

“I…you’re right, that’s probably the best choice we have. I just feel bad about stealing someone’s car like that.”

Beckett groaned and rolled his eyes. “Don’t think of it as stealing, think of it as borrowing. Sometimes expediency has to triumph over morality, darling.”

“Agreed; you’re right. Find us a car, and let’s go home.”

**

Antigone insisted that they park the car in a municipal lot where it would be relatively safe from further thievery. Beckett sighed and rolled his eyes at her again, but relented. They left the car securely locked in Midtown, and he followed her into the subway.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I am so glad to see the  New York subway system,” she said, smiling wryly. “After  Philadelphia , this is a welcome sight.” Beckett raised his eyebrows, and she continued, “I spent gods know how many nights slogging through abandoned subway tunnels there.” She rested her head on his shoulder, and he kissed the top of her head.

“I know. I followed your trail through all of them.”

She looked up at him, and he chuckled. “I was looking for you for over a week. You were not easy to find, you know.” He stroked her hair, and she leaned her head back on his shoulder. “I’m just glad I found you when I did.”

“Me too.” She stood as the train approached the  86 th Street station. “This is our stop,” she said, clutching the metal pole for support. Beckett stood and put a steadying arm around her waist, and they exited the train.

“Are you able to walk from here?” he asked.

She nodded. “It’s only a block and a half to the house.” She pulled her jacket closer around her and zipped it up, hiding her shredded and bloody shirt. “Damn it, where did I put the keys,” she murmured, patting her pockets until she found them. “Oh, I almost forgot; look what I found,” she said, holding up the glass tube containing the Elixir.

Beckett’s eyes widened. “Any idea what they were doing with it, besides torturing people?” he asked, rubbing his chest absently.

“Unfortunately, yes. They were hoping to join a demon with a vampire host.”

He stopped walking and gaped at her, eyes wide behind his sunglasses.  **_ “What?” _ **

“Forced demonic possession, basically,” she said, nodding. “One of the reasons I need to know what this stuff is, is to find out if there’s anything that can counteract it. Know any good alchemists?” She reached for his hand and took it, and they resumed walking.

“None in this area, unfortunately,” he replied.

They reached the house and she unlocked each door in turn. When they were inside, she peeled off her jacket and dropped it onto the couch before collapsing onto it herself. “The only thing I can think of is seeing if Viktor knows someone who can analyze it. He’s the only one I’d trust with it besides you or I.” She tried to remove the remains of her t-shirt, but the blood had dried and it adhered to her skin. “Feh, I need to wash this shirt off of me,” she said, grimacing. “I’m going to jump in the shower. I’ll be right back.”

Beckett removed his own jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. The sound of running water came from down the hall. He walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator; he was in luck, she’d left a few blood bags here. He heated three, and they were ready just as she walked into the kitchen wearing a dark green robe. Her hair hung in damp ringlets down her back, and her skin was very pink; heat radiated off her.

“Nothing like a nice, hot shower,” she smiled. He leaned forward and kissed her, marveling in the warmth of her lips against his.    


“Here, this is for you. Drink it all,” he said, handing her a pewter mug filled nearly to the brim with blood. 

“How much is in here?” she asked.

He held up two fingers. “Two bags; I’m having the third.”

“I don’t need two. One should be fine,” she protested, but he cut her off with another kiss. 

“Yes you do, if I’m to drink from you tonight,” he whispered, his lips grazing her ear as he spoke.

Antigone felt an electric pulse up her spine and looked up to meet his gaze. She removed his sunglasses and set them on the countertop. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

He smiled and kissed her forehead, where her third eye was hidden. “Very sure; now drink that before it gets cold.”

She grinned and took a long sip from the mug, and he did the same with his. 

“So now that you’ve fulfilled your oath and avenged your family, what comes next?” he asked.

Antigone sighed. “I don’t know, actually. For centuries, it’s been my main focus, and my reason for being.”

He nodded. “Please tell me you’re not planning something melodramatic like greeting the dawn.”

She shook her head. “No, although for a long time that was my plan; I feel a bit lost, but I figure that I just need to find another reason to keep going.”

Beckett smiled tenderly at her and stroked her cheek. “I may be able to help with that, if you’ll let me.” He leaned forward and kissed her, pulling her tightly to him. “Now finish that, damn it,” he laughed, and she raised the mug and drained it. As she set it down on the counter, he swept her up into his arms and kissed her.

“Come with me,” Beckett said, taking her hand and tugging her towards the bedroom. She followed obligingly.

He turned to face her and undid the belt of her robe, letting it fall open to reveal her nakedness.

“That’s not very fair; look at all the clothes you’re wearing,” she teased, folding her arms across her chest.

He grinned wickedly. “You can always do something about that.” And she did; first she pulled the t-shirt over his head and ran her hands across the bare skin of his chest, leaning in to kiss him as her hands moved lower to unbutton his jeans. He slid his hands beneath the robe to her shoulders and slipped it from her, letting it fall in a puddle on the ground at her feet. Beckett pulled her closer, reveling in the feel of her skin against his, holding her waist with one hand while the other moved lower to cup her buttocks.

Antigone finally undid the last button of his fly, and pulled the jeans down over his hips. They slid down, and he stepped out of them, kicking them aside. 

“I want to be inside you when I drink from you,” he whispered, reaching one hand up to stroke her cheek.

She turned her head and kissed his hand. "Are you certain about this?"

He nodded, "Utterly."

“You don't have to do this out of guilt or any sense of obligation..."

"Shh," he whispered, leaning in and kissing her softly. "I'm doing it because it's what I want to do." He tilted her face up to his. Antigone looked into his eyes, and could see the truth of his words reflected there. She smiled broadly and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her and kissing him. "Alright, then."

"So does it feel different afterwards?"

"Yes, in a way I can't describe in words; it would be...like trying to explain music to the deaf, or a sunset to the blind." She shook her head, “If that makes any sense.”

Beckett nodded and grinned devilishly. "I guess I'll just have to find out for myself, then, hmm?" She laughed and pushed him backward onto the bed; he grabbed her hand as he fell, and pulled her down with him. He held onto her and rolled so that he was atop her, and leaned back to look at her.

“My god, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. “Shh, don’t say it. You’re not allowed to disagree with me on this; anything else, fine, but I’m entitled to my opinion.”

Antigone chuckled, “Fair enough.” She leaned up and kissed him.

He took her in his arms and held her tightly, closing his eyes. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing her skin.

She wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that she was actually glowing with happiness, Antigone thought to herself. Twining her fingers through his brown locks, she sighed as he trailed kisses down her neck and continued lower to her breast, tracing circles with his tongue around the areola. She moaned softly as his circles grew smaller, moving over the darker skin of the areola and then around the nipple, which grew firm and tight as his tongue flicked over it lightly. “I-I love you,” she gasped, and moaned again as he drew the nipple into his mouth and sucked. “Gods, Beckett, I love you so much…”

He looked up at her and smiled. “I don’t think I could ever possibly grow tired of hearing you say that,” he murmured. He kissed her lips, parting them with his tongue; he could taste traces of the blood she’d drank, and that only served to inflame his senses further. His kisses grew more insistent, and she responded with passion equal to his own, her mouth devouring his.

With a thought and the slightest effort, he willed blood to flow to his groin, and felt his organ stiffen almost immediately. He left her mouth and made a path of kisses down her throat, over her breast and down over her abdomen. 

Even though she hadn’t needed air in millennia, Antigone found herself reflexively breathing heavily and in short gasps when he moved lower still, and parted her legs to kiss her center. His tongue darted in and out of her, and he gently nipped the oh-so-tender flesh. She threw her head back into the pillow and wrapped her hands through his hair, her hips rising to meet him.  _ Dear gods, and I didn’t think it could get any better… _ He suckled her clitoris, and she moaned, arching her back and thrusting her hips towards him as a tide of sensation began to rise within her.

Beckett ran his tongue along her folds, delighting in her taste and the intoxicating scent of blood and her arousal. He slid a finger into her, and her moan of pleasure was all the encouragement he needed to continue; a second finger joined the first, and he took her clitoris between his teeth and nibbled before sucking it gently and flicking his tongue over the firm flesh.

Her breath coming in ragged gasps, Antigone shuddered as her climax came in an overwhelming wave of sensation and emotion. She was still trembling as Beckett moved back up to kiss her. “Are you okay?” he asked, brushing her hair from her eyes. Still incapable of speech, she nodded and clung to him.

He entered her with a slowness that was sweet torture for him. Her eyes fluttered open and met his with a smile so sweet his heart ached. He withdrew slightly from her, and then thrust back into her with more force as she raised her hips to meet him. She held his buttocks and pulled him even closer to her. He pulled back and withdrew completely from her, and then plunged his full length into her, thrusting deep within her. She arched her back and moaned his name, and any semblance of self-control he might have possessed snapped.    
  
Beckett pulled her to him and sank his fangs into the soft skin of her neck. Her vitae poured between his lips, into his mouth, and he drank it hungrily as he felt her own fangs slipping beneath his skin. His other senses failed him as his world narrowed to the intoxicating taste of her blood and the ecstasy of her kiss as she drank from him. When his orgasm came, he could not truly say whether it was lovemaking or blood-drinking that had brought it…and he found he didn’t care, as long as _she_ was a part of it.

_ I am bound to her, _ he thought, and a thrill of warmth flooded him, rippling along his spine. His fangs retracted and he licked closed the wound in her flesh before collapsing beside her in a daze.  _ I am bound to her, and she to me. _ His eyes were wide as he stared off past her into the night. "This is different. Very, very different..."

Antigone brushed a lock of unruly brown hair from his eyes and kissed him on the cheek. "Are you alright?"

He nodded slowly, considering the situation. "I...yeah, I'm okay. I'm better than okay." He turned back to face her. "I think I just need a moment for it all to sink in."

"I understand. Take as long as you need." She held him, and he leaned against her, trembling slightly. 

After a few minutes, he sighed and leaned back against the sheets, meeting her gaze. "I think I was expecting something different...I thought it would feel more restricted, or constraining." He shook his head and smiled at her. "But instead, all I feel is how utterly and completely I belong to you." 

"And I to you," she whispered, smiling, as he reached out to stroke her cheek. 

"I was afraid it would trap me somehow…change me, take away my freedom and my individuality; but it's not like that at all. Instead of taking anything away from me, it feels more as if something's been  _ added _ , if you know what I mean."

Antigone chuckled softly. "Oh, I do, trust me; it felt the same way for me." She snuggled close to him and lay her head on his shoulder, and his arms encircled her waist, pulling her to him.  _ Against all odds, all is right in the universe tonight, _ she thought, and sent a prayer to gods she’d thought left behind a lifetime ago that it might stay this way for a long, long time. 

After a while, she leaned up on one elbow and sighed. “So, what happens next?”

He chuckled and pulled her atop him. “We have at least another hour before daybreak…”

She straddled him and shook her head, laughing. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Are you saying no?” He looked crestfallen. 

Antigone shook her head again. “I meant after tonight.”

“Oh. We’ll just take it a day at a time. I’m fine with whatever comes, as long as I’m with you.” 

She laughed again and leaned forward to kiss him. “I meant about the Ba’ali, about the Elixir…”

He scowled at her. “Damn it, woman, how can you be thinking about that sort of thing now?” He was laughing now too. “Was my performance so mediocre that your mind was wandering?”

“No, no,” she chuckled, shaking her head. 

“I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to drive such thoughts out of your head.” A wolfish grin crossed his face and he winked at her. “They’ll still be here tomorrow night; we can worry about them then.”   


“You’re right,” she nodded with a mischievous smile of her own. “You know, it’s not polite to keep a lady waiting…”

He growled and pulled her down to him, his teeth piercing her skin as he entered her again.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**_ Sunday, February 15 _ ** **_ th _ ** **_ , 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 7:00 PM _ **

**_ Antigone’s haven,  _ ** **_ Manhattan _ **

Antigone held the vial up to examine it, rolling it between her fingers and watching the light from the lamp filter through it, casting a green glow on her fingers.  _ Tom was right, it does look like Mountain Dew,  _ she thought wryly. “So, do you have any idea what this stuff is?”

“Not in the slightest. Hell in a bottle, perhaps?” 

She set the vial of Elixir down on the table carefully. "I'm going to call Viktor and see if he knows anyone who might be able to analyze this for us discreetly." She reached for the phone and dialed while Beckett lay back on the other couch and closed his eyes.

"Vitya? It's Anya. Good, good; have lots to talk about. Listen, any chance of getting together tonight? There's too much to talk about over the phone. Oh, and I have someone I want you to meet. The usual place? Alright, see you at  midnight ." She hung up the phone and turned to Beckett. "We're meeting him at  midnight at  Kiev ." 

" Kiev ?" He opened his eyes and looked at his watch, his brow furrowed. "How the hell are we getting there by  midnight ?"

She laughed, "No, not the city.  Kiev is a little Ukrainian diner in the  East Village that never closes. There are always plenty of empty tables in the back, and Viktor is in love with their coffee." At Beckett's curious glance, she shrugged her shoulders. "He never lost the ability to drink; he can't eat, of course, but he can drink just about anything he wants. And he is completely addicted to  Kiev 's coffee." 

"Interesting. Can you tell me a little more about him, so I know what to expect? Frankly, I'm surprised we're meeting in public; most Tzimisce would do more than turn a few heads in a mortal establishment."

She shook her head. "Viktor's not a fleshcrafter; he's Koldun."

“Ah.” Beckett raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Another mystery solved. I wondered where you’d gotten those books on thaumaturgy, especially the Koldunic ones; not quite what I'd expected to find in a Salubri's library."

"Uskanova disapproved of fleshcrafting. I remember asking her once if she knew of anyone from whom I might learn the Discipline; her response was nothing like I'd expected. She ranted passionately for a few hours on the 'evils' of Vicissitude and how its practice had corrupted the Tzimisce. It was not originally one of their Disciplines, you know; it was discovered in the first millennium. She knew several Kindred who took up fleshcrafting, and she said it changed them, not for the better, and not just in appearance.  _ 'Just because we are Children of the Dragon doesn't mean we ought to become monsters,' _ she said." 

"Why in the world would you have wanted to learn that, anyway?"

"I thought it would be immensely helpful with healing, having the ability to reshape malformed limbs and reform scarred or damaged tissue. But after the lecture I got that night, I never dared to ask again."

He nodded. "Ah, that makes sense. So about Viktor..."

"He'd been Embraced only five years before we met. I was in pretty bad shape, fleeing the Tremere across  Eastern Europe . They'd first found my trail in  Budapest , and followed me all the way to the  Ukraine . It was almost dawn when I staggered into a small village and begged the first person I met for shelter. As luck would have it, it was Viktor. He could tell I was a Cainite, and one in a sorry state. He took me to the keep that overlooked the village and showed me to a small, dark room of my own with the first real bed I'd seen in ages. I would have wept with relief, had I not been so exhausted. The next night after I woke, I found a hot bath and new clothing waiting for me, and a manservant who bade me drink from him. Once I was clean and dressed, I fed for as long as I dared, and afterwards followed him to his mistress." 

"When I first met Uskanova, I was overwhelmed. Granted, I'd been Embraced almost 800 years before her, but I'd slept for a long part of that, and she was far more an Elder than I. She'd been born to a tribe who served the Koldun, and had been an earth priestess before her Embrace. She had, I don't know, a...  _ presence _ about her. I've met few Kindred in my time that inspired that kind of awe in me. Even after all the years I spent with them, I never felt any less respect for her. She was an amazing woman."

" _ Was? _ Does she still exist?"

Antigone shook her head sadly. "No, she was a casualty of the Anarch Revolt. She knew that there was no way both she and her Childe could hope to survive, so she had him diablerize her. It simultaneously strengthened Viktor and cemented his reputation with the newly-formed Sabbat."

“That sounds surprisingly like some of the nicer things the Tremere have said about the Salubri.”

“I know,” she sighed and moved over to the couch where he was sprawled, sitting beside him and leaning against him. He put an arm around her and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head.

“So what happened then?” he asked, stroking her hair.

“Well, to make a long story short, Viktor allied himself with the Sabbat, but managed to keep himself from getting tangled up in it. He’s kept himself as independent as he dares, just keeping enough of a hand in to maintain his status. He’s not one for politics and intrigue; leave him alone with his books and his magic, and he’d be a happy man. He’d be miserable as a Cardinal, which is what they’ve asked him to be on more than one occasion; nominally he’s considered a Priscus.”

“And where were you when all this was going on?”

Antigone snuggled closer to him. “A few months before the Anarch Revolt finally made its way east to us, Uskanova sent me away. She had a fair sense of which way the wind was blowing, and I’m sure she realized I’d be a tasty snack for any anarchs who came sniffing in our direction. Not only was I older than her, I was closer to Caine in generation; I wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell of making it out of there intact.” 

“Where did you go?”

“I made my way back to  Greece , and found a small cave near the summit of Mytikas on  Olympus , up above the clouds. It wound deep into the mountain, so the sun was not a worry. When I got to the back of the cave, I curled up in a ball and went to sleep. When I woke up, it was a different world. I’d gone into torpor; from stress and grief, from the altitude, from just sheer exhaustion, it’s hard to say. But regardless of the reason, I fell asleep in 1493 and woke in 1810.”

Beckett’s eyes widened. “That was a hell of a nap.”

She nodded. “And I woke to a country on the brink of war. The  Ottoman Empire had held  Greece for centuries, but the people were finally rising up to throw them off. Along with many of my countrymen, I fled to the  New World . I arrived in  New York the next year and, except for a few brief journeys away, have been here ever since.” She turned to him and grinned. “And I think that is more than enough questions for now. We have four hours before we need to leave, and I can think of several things I’d rather be doing than sitting here replaying the last few centuries.”

“I’m sorry,” Beckett said, reaching for her and pulling her close for a kiss. “I can’t help myself sometimes; it’s my nature, I suppose.” He gently tugged her hair free of the ponytail she’d pulled it into, and ran his hands through it. “I can think of a few ways I might be able to make it up to you, if you’ll allow me.” 

“But of course,” she chuckled, reaching for him. “I thought you’d never ask…”


	23. Chapter Twenty-three

**_ Sunday, February 15, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 11:45 PM _ **

**_ The  _ ** **_ East _ ** **__ ** **_ Village _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ New York _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ NY _ **

They took the subway downtown and walked the last few blocks to the diner. As Antigone had said, there were many empty tables near the back of the room, where conversation could be more private. They took a table in the far corner and Antigone ordered them each a cup of coffee. "To warm our hands," she grinned. "And he'll drink them both, plus his own. This way it looks like the three of us had some." 

At almost the exact stroke of  midnight , the door opened and a wiry, dark-haired man with tilted black eyes and a long, well-groomed Fu Manchu-style mustache entered the diner. The waitress greeted him with a smile of recognition, and he indicated that he was headed to the back of the room. He strode over to the table where they were seated, and Antigone stood as he approached. She greeted him with a hug, and he kissed her once on each cheek. "Anya," he said with a broad smile, "It's been too long." She kissed his cheek and hugged him again. "I agree. You keep yourself too busy." She gestured to Beckett, who rose and extended a hand in greeting. "Vitya, this is Beckett; Beckett, this is Viktor Ilanovich, the brother I  _ should _ have had." The Tzimisce shook his hand and nodded. "I've heard of you." Beckett chuckled and nodded as well, "And I of you. It's a pleasure to meet you at last." 

Viktor took off his coat and settled in an empty chair, thanking the waitress as she set a steaming cup of coffee before him. After she'd walked away from the table, he turned to the Salubri. "So, what did you need to talk about? You sounded rather excited on the phone."

"Well, for one thing, my oath's been fulfilled."

His eyes widened, and he leapt up, almost spilling the coffee cups, embracing her in a wild hug. " _ Bozhe mij! _ Anya! That's wonderful! When? How? Tell me all about it!"

"Shh! Sit down, sit down," she laughed. "It happened just this weekend; Part of why I needed to see you was that I've got a vial of something I want to have examined; it needs an alchemist, or at the very least a competent chemist. I have to find out what it is, and if there's an antidote." She patted the chest pocket of her jacket, where the Elixir was hidden.

His dark eyes narrowed and he rubbed his chin absently. "I don't know of any practicing alchemists in  New York . Chemists, I know several. I'm assuming this is something you want kept quiet?" She nodded. "I figured as much. That narrows it down to one or two, then. I can make some inquiries and let you know if either of them are free to take on a project at the moment." 

"Fair enough." She raised the coffee cup to he lips and pretended to drink. The hot liquid felt good against her lips. "For all I know, this may be the last of the stuff. Most of it was destroyed in an explosion." 

Viktor raised his eyebrows. "This substance is explosive, and you're carrying it around with you?"

"Only when exposed to natural fire; it's also highly corrosive to skin, but it's well sealed." She set the coffee cup back down, and Viktor switched his empty cup with hers. 

"It's stable at room temperature, and smells like it has a high copper content," Beckett added.  _ And it hurts like a bastard when it touches you.  _ He shuddered involuntarily at the memory of the Elixir burning his flesh.

The Tzimisce steepled his fingers and looked at them both in turn. "And the Ba'ali were using it?" he asked, his voice hushed. They both nodded. "Do you know to what purpose?"

"They were ritually binding demons to vampires," Antigone said.

Viktor closed his eyes tightly. "An immortal, corporeal host. Please, tell me none of this has come to pass."

"Not as far as I'm aware," she replied. "As I said, there was an explosion, and a large quantity of this stuff was destroyed. If we're lucky, it was all of it."

Beckett shook his head. "You're not thinking it through, Antigone.  _ Someone _ had to know the formula; even if they were destroyed in the blast, it may be written down somewhere.” He turned to the Tzimisce. “They'll most likely be able to make more; how soon is anyone’s guess, but sooner or later it will show up again." 

"As much as I wish I could disagree, I fear you're correct," Viktor said. "We have to go on the assumption that they have access to more of it, whether now or in the future. Have you conducted any research on it thus far?" Antigone shook her head, and he continued, "No, of course not; you never did learn Thaumaturgy from Uskanova, did you? Well, there are a few rituals I can do to determine the source of the substance; where and when it was made, perhaps discover the creator..." 

"I can't believe I didn't think of that," sighed Beckett. "I could have at least gotten started on that tonight.”

“You had enough to do tonight,” the Salubri murmured, and Beckett felt the blood rush to his face. He kicked her, gently, under the table.  _ Just you wait… _

Viktor drained his coffee and took the untouched cup in front of Beckett, exchanging it for the empty one. "I've heard much about you, but never that you were a magician."

"I'm only little more than a dabbler. I know just enough to get myself in trouble," the Gangrel admitted with a grin. 

“Rather than have you pass it to me in a place where anyone could be watching, I think perhaps we should return to my home.” The Tzimisce turned to Beckett. “Also, it is likely that two of us working in concert might yield better results than either of us singly; unless you’d prefer otherwise, of course.”

“No, no, that would be fine. Shall we go?”

Viktor counted out several bills and left them on the table for the waitress, and the three Cainites stepped out into the winter night.


	24. Chapter Twenty-four

**_ Monday, February 16, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 4:15 AM _ **

**_ Viktor’s haven _ **

**_ Astor Place _ **

**_ The  _ ** **_ East _ ** **__ ** **_ Village _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ New York _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ NY _ **

Antigone sat curled up in a chair, her feet tucked beneath her and leaning on one elbow, watching the two she cared for most in the world deep in concentration. The spent trappings of the ritual surrounded them, and the five drops of the Elixir resting in the alembic in the center of the Circle bubbled and hissed like a living thing as Viktor sliced open the tip of his index finger with a small golden blade and let a single drop join them. Beckett followed a moment later, his motions following Viktor’s with perfect precision.

With a whoosh and a flash of light and puff of foul green smoke, the entire mixture combusted and consumed itself. Beckett sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, that didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know. Damn.”

The Tzimisce nodded wearily; a faint blood sheen covered his features. “And unfortunately, that is about all you and I are going to be capable of finding out. There may have been some magic involved in its creation, but if so, it wasn’t any Thaumaturgical Path I’m familiar with.”

“Same here.” They took down the Circle and Antigone stood, stretching. She’d learned long ago to keep as still and quiet as possible when observing a ritual. Beckett met her gaze and shrugged his shoulders. “We basically found out it was made by a Ba’ali and has something to do with Bindings.”   


“Damn.” She shook her head. “So, what’s the next step?”

Viktor paused, holding a towel he’d been using to wipe the blood-sweat from his face. “Now I convince a chemist to tell me what it is, and to forget he ever saw it or me afterwards.”

“You said there were only two who might be able to help. When do you think you’ll know for certain if one is available?”

He finished wiping his face and set the towel aside. “Tomorrow; I’ll pay each of them a call soon after dark. One owes me his life, the other seeks to curry my favor. Chances are excellent that I might be able to convince both of them to test the Elixir, and we can compare their results.” The Koldun turned to Beckett. “You had some nerve telling me you were, how did you put it, ‘little more than a dabbler’, in magic. I’ve seen some of my own with less skill than you.”

Beckett smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said.

“Oh, it most assuredly is intended that way. It’s always an unexpected pleasure to work with a skilled practitioner.” 

Antigone put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Vitya, we are going to need to leave soon if we’re to get home before the dawn.”

“Please, you are my guests; you’re both welcome to stay for the day. Anya, your room is always here for you; I can easily have the servants prepare a room for Beckett.”

“He and I can share my room.”  _ And Vitya, if you make a scene, I shall strangle you, _ she thought, casting a warning glance in his direction.

The Tzimisce’s eyes widened slightly but he apparently wasn’t about to call her bluff; his composure never faltered. “Certainly, that would be fine. Will either of you need anything further before you retire?”

“No, I think we’re fine,” she replied.  _ So far so good, but I’m sure I’ll hear plenty from him later. It might be worse this way; he’ll have ample time to sit and think of all the things he needs to lecture me about.  _ Still, no matter what sort of objections and warnings her dearest friend might raise, there was no way she was spending the night anywhere else but in Beckett’s arms. 

“Goodnight, then,” Viktor said, embracing her and kissing her cheek. He faced Beckett, and after a moment’s hesitation, embraced him briefly as well. “You are safe under my roof. If there is anything at all that you need, the servants will attend you as they would me.”

_ Well, that was a little more formal than I’m used to from him, but things seem to be off to a good start, _ she mused. “Goodnight, Vitya. And thank you for everything.” 

“Goodnight, and thank you,” Beckett added. He had the sense that there was something deeper passing between the other two, something he’d do well to stay back from until it resolved. Antigone guided him through a hall and down a flight of stairs to a small windowless room, and locked the door behind them.

“I’m sorry the ritual didn’t work.” She kicked off her shoes and undressed, slipping beneath the bedcovers. He did the same, and once beside her, he pulled her close and kissed her.

“I never said it didn’t work; it actually worked quite well. It just didn’t give us any new information.”

“That’s what I meant. I hope the chemists are able to give us some answers; otherwise, I’m not sure what to do.”

“I do, but it’s not something you’re going to like. For that matter, neither will Viktor.”

“Oh?” She sat up and looked at him. 

Beckett sighed. “I have a few contacts within Clan Tremere who owe me some pretty big favors…”

“No. Absolutely not,” she snapped, her eyes blazing. “I can’t  _ believe _ you would even think...”

“Shh. Hear me out, love. They’re the best there is when it comes to magic, and there’s more than one alchemist in the bunch. They won’t stop until they unravel whatever secret the Elixir is hiding.” 

“And use it to their own ends, no doubt.” Antigone’s anger crackled like static electricity around her. 

He pulled her to him and held her. “If you truly don’t want me to do it, I won’t. But give it some thought; it’s an option, and we have precious few of those right now.” He felt her relax slightly as he stroked her hair. 

Sighing, Antigone nodded. “I’ll think about it. But I can tell you right now, it’s not something I want to do. It would be a last resort.”

“Understood,” he said, and kissed her. He lay back down and rubbed his eyes. “I’m completely exhausted; that took more out of me than I was letting on.” She settled in beside him and pillowed her head on his chest, and he draped an arm around her waist, and they were both asleep within moments.


	25. Chapter Twenty-five

**_ Monday, February 23, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 9 PM _ **

**_ Antigone’s haven _ **

“So these are the reports,” Viktor said, spreading the pages out on the tabletop. He sat on the couch across from the pair, and leaned back so they could both read the notations.

_ “There were several copper-based compounds present in the sample provided, suspended in an aldehyde base. Copper is, of course, known for its excellent electrical conductivity. Copper hydroxide, made by mixing solutions of lye and blue vitriol, has been known to man since copper smelting began around 5000 BC (although alchemists were probably the first to manufacture it.) Copper acetylide can form inside pipes made of copper or an alloy with high copper content, which may result in violent explosion.”  _

_ “Cupric oxide is an irritant that is used as a substitute for iron oxide in thermite. This can turn the thermite from an incendiary to a low explosive. All three of these compounds were present in the sample.” _

Beckett looked up and met the Tzimisce’s eyes. “Well, it’s more than we knew before, but it’s still not much.”

Viktor nodded dourly. “I had hoped for more than this.” He folded the sheets up and tucked them back in his pocket. “Any suggestions as to where we go from here?”

After a moment’s silence, Antigone whispered, “Beckett had an idea. I still don’t like it, but I don’t know where else we can get the information we need.”

Both their eyes were on him; he knew the Tzimisce would likely take the suggestion as poorly as Antigone had. “I have…certain contacts that might be able to succeed where we’ve failed. The problem is that they are Tremere.” He steeled himself for an outburst from the Koldun, but it never came.

“As much as I despise the thought of you going to them for assistance, I can see the logic in your plan.” Viktor stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “You will, of course, tell them no more than they need to know.”

Beckett nodded. “Needless to say, this is something I’m going to have to do alone. I’ll have to make some calls, send some emails, and see what I can make happen. So are you both alright with this as the next course of action?”

“As much as I hate to say so, the Tremere are our best chance at getting the answers we need,” Antigone sighed. “May they rot in hell.”

Viktor put a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps we’ll be lucky, and they’ll have an explosion of their very own once they’ve gotten us our information.” He looked at Beckett and shrugged his shoulders with mock innocence. “You never know; stranger things have happened.”

The Gangrel chuckled and shook his head. “Whatever you want to do to them is fine with me, just make sure I’m far away when it happens, and that I’ve already gotten their report.” He met the Tzimisce’s gaze and grinned. “I don’t ever want to get on your bad side, Viktor.”

“I don’t have a bad side; what’s the expression?  _ ‘What you see is what you get,’  _ I believe.” He broke into a wide grin and clapped Beckett on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, my friend. As long as my sister is happy, that’s all that matters. Hurt her, though, and the world is not large enough for you to hide.” Antigone covered her face with her hands and groaned.

Beckett smiled and reached out to stroke her hair. “Then I have nothing to worry about.” She looked at him, her face pink from the blood that had risen beneath her skin, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Alright, let me get started; the sooner I am able to reach them, the sooner we’ll have our answers.” He pulled his cellular phone from his pocket and began dialing.


	26. Chapter Twenty-six

**_ Tuesday, February 24, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 11:30 PM _ **

**_ Antigone’s haven _ **

“How long do you think you’ll be gone?” Antigone lay back on the couch, her head resting in Beckett’s lap and her feet dangling over the opposite armrest.

He stopped stroking her hair and looked down, meeting her gaze. “It depends on how soon Samir can get me some answers. It will take me two weeks just to get to  London , and then another couple of days from there to  Vienna . So, that puts it at a minimum of five weeks, plus however long his research takes.” 

She frowned and closed her eyes. “I wish there were a way I could come along.”

  
”I know; so do I. I’ve rather gotten used to sleeping beside you, and even more so to waking beside you.” He traced a fingertip lightly over her lips, and she kissed it. “But I can’t think of anyplace in creation more dangerous to you than the seat of the Tremere’s power. I’ll have my phone and laptop with me; we’ll talk every night.”   


Antigone sighed. “I suppose that will have to suffice. Ah well, I have plenty to keep me occupied while you’re gone.”

“You know I’ll be back absolutely as soon as I can.”

“Mm-hmm. And hopefully, you’ll have found out what we need to know.” She sat up and turned to kiss him. “What time does the ship sail?”

“ Nine o’clock tomorrow evening. I can board as late as seven-thirty, which should be long after sunset. And when we arrive at  Southampton , the scheduled docking time is seven in the evening Greenwich Time, so I’ll be fine leaving the ship as well.” He kissed her again. “You’ll still be fast asleep then, so I’ll wait until after  eight o’clock New York time to call and let you know I’ve safely arrived.”

“Alright. So do you have everything you’ll need for the trip?”

He smiled wistfully. “Everything except you; I’ll miss you terribly.” He pulled her close and held her tightly, breathing in her scent.

“I don’t even want to think about it. I miss you already, and you’re not even gone,” she murmured.

“Hey.” Beckett released her and leaned back, looking into her eyes. “What are we doing out here on the couch? Lay in bed with me and let me hold you.”

She smiled and stood, and led him to the bedroom.


	27. Chapter Twenty-seven

**_ Wednesday, February 25, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 10:10 PM _ **

**_ Kiev _ **

**_ The  _ ** **_ East _ ** **__ ** **_ Village _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ New York _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ NY _ **

Antigone walked into the diner, motioning to the waiter that she was meeting someone. She scanned the room and caught a glimpse of Viktor at a table near the back, and made her way over to him.

“Hey,” she greeted him, dropping into an empty chair. “Here I am.”

“You’re late,” he said without looking at her, and glanced up at the clock on the wall. He swirled the dark liquid in his cup and raised it to him lips, swallowing. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not having a good night,” she mumbled, shrugging out of her jacket.

“Has he left for  Vienna ?”

She nodded. “A few hours ago. So why did you want to see me?”

Viktor set the cup down and folded his hands. “Anya, we’ve been friends a long time. You know I care about you. I worry about you, sometimes more than you’d guess.” He sighed and finally made eye contact with her. “What is Beckett to you, and how do you know he’s to be trusted? He could be on his way to sell you out to the Usurpers.”

_ I knew this was coming, _ she thought, fighting back the urge to roll her eyes. “He would never do such a thing. I trust him as I do you, Vitya; the two of you are the only ones in the world I know without a doubt in my soul who would never bring me harm.”

“You’ve known me for centuries. How long have you known him?”

“Four months, not that it matters.”

“It matters. And the night you both stayed at my home…”

She glared at him warningly. “Don’t even go there.”

He ignored her and continued. “You took him to your bed.”

“What is that to you?” Her voice was a growl, and her fingernails dug into the palms of her clenched fists, drawing beads of blood. 

“Anya, Anya…you are my sister in all but blood. You are the nearest thing to kin I have in this world. If anything were to happen to you, especially under my roof and my protection, I would never be able to forgive myself.” He was silent for a few moments while the waitress appeared with a cup of coffee for Antigone and another for him, and once she was out of earshot, continued. “Am I not allowed to look out for you?”

The Salubri unclenched her fists and willed the gouges left by her nails to close. After a surreptitious look around to ensure no one was watching, she raised each hand in turn quickly to her lips and licked away the blood droplets. Finally, with a sigh, she met Viktor’s eyes. “I appreciate you looking out for me; you know I do. But I’m a grown woman and quite able to choose whom I do and do not wish to associate with. And for what it’s worth, I stayed under your roof that first night only minutes after meeting you.”

“That was different.”

She shook her head. “It’s not open to debate, Vitya. You will have to take my word on it that Beckett will not harm or betray me.”

“I suppose I have little choice in the matter. All I am asking is that you be careful.” He reached across the table and took one of her hands between his and squeezed. “Please forgive me for being an overprotective brother.”

Antigone smiled. “I think I can do that.” She removed her hand from his and took the hot mug between her hands, relishing the blissful warmth as it spread through her skin. “And I promise you, I will be careful.”


	28. Chapter Twenty-eight

**_ Thursday, February 26, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 3:15 AM _ **

**_ Antigone’s haven _ **

“Hello?” Antigone flipped open the cellular phone to answer the call.

“It’s me.” 

“I’m glad you called. It’s good to hear your voice.”

Beckett sighed. “Yours too; how’s your night been?”

“Not too bad. I met Vitya for coffee and we talked. Other than that, nothing much is going on.”

“The sun will be coming up soon. I just wanted to hear your voice before I went to sleep.” He sounded exhausted.

“I’m not looking forward to going to bed alone.” And she wasn’t.

“Neither am I. If Samir knows what’s good for him, he’ll do his research damned fast so I can get out of there and back to you.”

She chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll find ways to convince him.”

He laughed tiredly. “I need to get going, I can barely keep my eyes open. I’ll call again tonight.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you,” he whispered, and the connection ended. Antigone flipped the ph one closed and sighed. She’d exist ed almost two millennia already, and  could quite  conceivably go on for several more. A month and a half, give or take a few weeks, was as the blink of an eye to one such as her. So why, then, did it feel like an eternity until they’d be together again?


	29. Chapter Twenty-nine

**_ Thursday, February 26, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 4 AM _ **

**_ Somewhere in lower  _ ** **_ Manhattan _ **

Malphas traced the last line in the caitiff’s flesh and carefully poured the Elixir upon the wound. He watched as the wounds melded into a single, glowing sigil, and smiled at the results. Next, he turned his attentions back to the Ritual of Summoning that the others were performing; so far, everything was proceeding flawlessly.

As the ritual reached its crescendo, he made one last incision, between and just above the captive vampire’s eyes, and spoke the Child’s true Name. Despite the stake through its heart, the caitiff’s back arched and his eyes bulged as the Abyssal presence sought to meld itself to his flesh. The stake shifted and dropped free, and the unfortunate kindred’s body was seized by a massive convulsion. Before Malphas could stop him, he’d bitten through his tongue and vitae pumped forth from the wound; he reached for the caitiff’s flailing hands, but too late to keep him from gouging out his own eyes. Blood pooled all around the altar as the captive vampire screamed once, the sound of a lost soul, and was destroyed in a brief flash of flame. 

Ah well; it was an improvement over the last one. Soon, they would perfect the process, and the world would belong to the Children at last.


	30. Chapter Thirty

**_ Tuesday, March 10, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 4:00 AM _ **

**_ Just outside  _ ** **_ London _ **

Beckett leaned against a tree in a small copse off to the side of the M3. He’d run in wolf-form from Southampton to just outside London; he’d hoped to be able to reach Heathrow before dawn and book a flight for the next evening, but hunting had proven to be more of a chore than he’d anticipated. It had also taken some doing to find an isolated enough patch of woods where he could meld into the earth for the day, so when he’d found this oasis of nature beside the motorway, he figured he’d take what he could get and just deal with Heathrow after dark.

He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the cellular phone. She answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hello, beautiful.” Damn, but he missed her.

“Hey. Where are you?”

“Just outside  London ; I was going to try for the airport, but I’m running out of darkness. I forgot how short the nights are this far north. I’ll see about getting a flight to  Vienna tonight, and if I can, I’ll call to let you know the details. Otherwise, I’ll let you know as soon as possible once I land there.”

“Sounds good to me,” she replied.

“How’s everything?” 

“Same as last night; I miss you.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “I miss you, too.”

“Hurry up and get back here,” she whispered. “Please.”

“I will, I promise. I wish I’d thought of having you come at least this far with me; I could have flown to  Vienna , dealt with Samir, and flown back to you, and we could have avoided some of this.”

“Too bad neither of us thought of that before you left.”

“I know. Ah well, I’ll be back soon. I’ll call you tonight, love.”

“Alright. Sleep well. I love you.”

“I love you, Antigone. Have a good night.”

He closed the phone and put it back into his pocket, and sank beneath the earth to wait out the day.


	31. Chapter Thirty-one

**_ Tuesday, March 10, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 7:00 PM _ **

**_ Antigone’s have, New York, NY _ **

Antigone woke and reached for Beckett before she remembered he wasn't there. Sighing, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.  _ It's only for a few weeks _ , she reminded herself.  _ But waking up alone still sucks. _ From the living room, her laptop was chirping the news that she had unread email. 

She padded barefoot to the monitor and clicked it on. The email was from Beckett. 

__

_ Hello, beautiful... _

__

_ Landed safe and sound. Have I ever mentioned how much I despise flying? Will call tonight at  _ _ 9:00 _ _ NY time.  _

__

_ I miss you. _

__

_ ~B _

She smiled and typed a reply. 

_ I miss you too. Waiting for your call. _

__

_ ~A _

She sent it and pulled up the local news webpage, and was scanning the headlines when her email chirped again. There was another email from him.

_ You're up early. Mind if I call now? _

She fired off a quick reply.

_ I'll be waiting by the phone. _

Moments later, the telephone rang. 

"Hello?"

"I didn't want to wait two more hours to hear your voice," he whispered.

"It's good to hear yours, too," she replied with a smile. "How's  Vienna ?"

"Dark. Rainy. It would be better if you were here with me."

"I wish I was there." 

"So do I. But I can't think of any place less safe for you." 

"I know; waking up alone was hard, though."

"I'm not looking forward to it, myself. Trust me, the moment I'm finished here, I'll be headed home to you."

"I miss you."

Beckett sighed. "I miss you too, my darling. I wish I were there with you now, holding you and kissing you."

"Mmm. Is that  _ all _ you'd be doing?" she asked, grinning.

He laughed. “Well…that depends on what you wanted me to do. I suppose you have some ideas?”

With a soft chuckle, she proceeded to tell him several ideas she’d had in mind. _ If anyone’s tapping this line, they’re getting an earful, _ he thought with a smirk.


	32. Chapter Thirty-two

**_ uesday, March 10, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 11:30 PM _ **

**_ Central Park _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ Manhattan _ **

Antigone walked alongside the bridle path; through the barren tree branches, she could see in the distance the silvery reflection of moonlight in the reservoir. It was a cold, windy night, and there were few people out. Turning her face up to the sky, she could see dark clouds moving between the stars. 

A noise off to her right brought her back from her reverie. Extending her senses, she heard and saw her assailant long before he knew she had.  _ Think I’m easy prey, do you? You’re in for quite a surprise…  _ She let him think her unaware of his approach, until he reached for her from behind.

“Give me your money and-hey!” His face registered surprise as she grabbed him by the collar and lifted him a foot off the ground. 

“And what? You’ll let me live? How generous of you.” She smiled at him, and let her fangs grow. Although it was a stricture of her Clan that you never fed from one who feared you, it was also accepted that anyone who attacked you was fair game.  _ Thank Samiel and his lot for that,  _ she thought with a chuckle. She closed her eyes and opened the third eye in the center of her forehead, which glowed crimson in the darkness. “I think not.”

The mugger struggled to free himself, but she held him fast. “Let this be a lesson to you,” she whispered, and set him down on his feet. Before he could flee, she sank her fangs into his throat. She drank enough to sustain herself for another few nights, as well as to weaken him to exhaustion but not cause lasting harm. When she finished, she hoisted him up again and set him on a bench beside the bridle path. Flipping open her cellular phone, she dialed the number for the  Central Park police, to report an unconscious man near the reservoir.

She flipped closed the phone and pocketed it after making the call, and walked off towards the reservoir. She never noticed the figure skulking in the shadows who had silently observed the entire scene. When she was out of sight, he moved off into the night. There were some who would pay well for what he’d seen.


	33. Chapter Thirty-three

**_Thursday, March 11, 1998_ ** **_,_ ** **_4:45 AM_ **

The phone rang near five o'clock. Antigone wrinkled her brow, confused. _It's_ _noon_ _in_ _Vienna_ _,_ she thought. She picked up the receiver with some trepidation. "Hello? 

"Goldilocks! Listen to me, this is important." 

"Brimstone? How the hell did you get this number?" 

"Nevermind that. You need to get out of that house. Grab anything you can't live without and get out of there now. I'll meet you at Strawberry Fields in ten minutes." 

A wave of panic flooded her. "What the hell is going on..." she demanded, but the line went dead. _Anything I can't live without..._ she looked around the living room. Hanging up the phone, she reached for the laptop, shut it off and stuffed it into the leather carrybag. Dumping that on one of the couches, she ran into the bedroom and grabbed the kopis, slinging the baldric over her head and shoulder, then pulling the battered army jacket on top of that. She pulled open drawers and grabbed a number of precious items, stowing them in pockets before hurrying to the kitchen. From the refrigerator, she pulled the remaining blood bags, which went into other pockets. Her wallet was already in the back pocket of her jeans. She glanced around; anything else, no matter how dear, could be replaced. Shouldering the laptop case and patting her pockets to ensure her cellular phone was there, she grabbed the keys and left, locking the doors behind her. 

She reached Strawberry Fields minutes later. Brimstone was waiting. 

"I always knew you were a smart girl," he said, nodding at her. "Listen, I have no idea how this got started, but there's been a Blood Hunt called on you." 

**_"WHAT?"_ **

He made hushing motions frantically. "Keep it down, unless you want to be a pile of ashes by sunrise. Now, I used to think you were a Brujah, I mean with the sword and all. Then a couple of months ago, you show up with your eyes glowing in the dark, so I thought, maybe she's a Gangrel. Well, the word is that you're not either of those, that you're one of those Salubri." 

Her mouth fell open. "Where did you hear that?" 

"I wasn’t _officially_ supposed to be at the Primogen council session tonight, but you know how that goes. Sometimes, people talk too loud, they get overheard. Anyways, I hear the Tremere grand poobah talking about how they've found a Salubri is somewhere here in New York , and the more she talks, the more it sounds to me like she's talking about _you_. So the Council tells her that they'll sanction a Blood Hunt, if there really is a Salubri in town." 

"Damn." She kicked absently at a pebble on the ground. "What else did you hear?" 

"That's about it. I didn't stick around too long after that; I wanted to warn you, just in case I was right and it was you they were talking about." 

She remembered something. "How did you get my phone number?" 

He grinned, showing his rotting teeth. "Clan secret. There's not much you can hide from a determined Nosferatu, gorgeous. Just be glad I'm on your side." 

She tilted her head to the side. "Why _are_ you on my side? Shouldn't you be trying to kill me like everyone else will be when word of a Blood Hunt gets out?" 

"Nah," he shook his head and spat. "I figure I owed you my life; we're even now." 

"I need to find somewhere to go. It's going to be light in less than an hour." She looked up at the sky nervously. 

"I'd say come down to the sewers, but I'm not sure you'd be safe down there. Some people are a little too eager to be on the Prince's good side, if you know what I mean." 

"Viktor." She reached in her pocket and fished out the cellular phone, dialing his number. "Vitya? I need a tremendous favor. I need someplace to stay today." 

"What's wrong?" 

"I'm in trouble; warlock trouble." 

" _Bozhe mij_ …” 

"Ah, hell, I have to call Beckett. I hope I can reach him before he calls the house," she said, her anxiety rising. 

"Alright, just come on over, you can call him when you get here. The sun will be up soon." 

"Be there as quick as I can." She clicked off the phone and looked up at Brimstone. "Thank you again." She leaned forward and gave him a quick hug, startling him. 

"Where you going?" 

"To stay with a friend. I'll be safe there." She shoved the phone back in her pocket and hefted the laptop case over her shoulder. "Keep me posted, if you hear anything." 

"Will do. Keep your head down and your eyes open. Well, not that one, but you know what I mean," he grinned. 

She groaned, but smiled at him before turning away and hurrying off towards the East Village. 

The doorbell chimed and she tapped her foot anxiously, waiting for someone to answer. Finally, a tall raven-haired woman opened the door. "You are Anya, yes?" she asked, her accent thick with the lilt of Novgorod. 

"I am," she nodded. 

"Come with me. You are expected." She followed the woman into the house, down a narrow flight of steps to the basement. 

"Good, you're here," Viktor called as she descended the last few steps. He was standing beside a table, leaning over an ancient tome with a thick magnifying glass and a flashlight. He looked up and set the tools aside. "So what's this about the Warlocks?" he asked, concern evident on his face. 

Antigone sighed and slipped the laptop case off her shoulder, setting it beside a chair. "Someone found me out. I don't know if it was a Warlock, or if they just got wind of it through the grapevine, but there's apparently been a Blood Hunt called on me." 

"Damn. At least you had the sense to come here. The Camarilla knows better than to stick their nose into the East Village, unless they want it twisted permanently out of shape by some of my brethren," he said, shaking his head. "Still, we need to get you out of New York until things calm down. Are you certain that he’s made it to Vienna?" 

"Yes, I talked with him last night; he had just landed a few hours earlier. He was supposed to call again tonight, but I never heard from him; I need to contact him and let him know what's happened, and to ensure he doesn’t call the house phone." 

“Any word on how things are going?” 

“He was supposed to meet with his contact tonight to give him the sample, and then it will be a matter of waiting for answers.” She flipped open her cell phone and punched in Beckett’s number; as she expected, being the middle of the day in Austria, she reached his voice mail. “Hey, it’s me. This is very important… **DO NOT** call the house under any circumstances. I’m safe, but there’s trouble. Call my cellular phone or email me. I’ll talk to you tonight. I love you,” she said, the last words a whisper. 

Viktor waited for her to close the phone. “Anya,” he said hesitantly, “I know you trust him. But doesn’t it strike you as far too convenient that the night after he makes contact with his Tremere associates, there is suddenly a Blood Hunt called on you?” 

She shook her head violently. “Absolutely not. He would never betray me.” 

“I wish I could be as certain as you are.” The Tzimisce sighed and reached for the tome he’d been examining, and wrapped it securely in a dark cloth, setting it back on the table when he was done. “Can you at least tell me how you can be so assured of his loyalty? Perhaps that might help to put me a little more at ease.” 

“We are Blood-bound to one another,” she replied, her voice little more than a whisper. 

“What?” his head snapped up, his eyes meeting hers. “Ah, Anya…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Well, that explains a lot.” He shut off the lamp beside the table and beckoned her towards the stairs. “Blood bonds can be broken; if you wish, I can arrange for that for you.” 

Antigone laughed and shook her head. “No, thank you. This is something we both wanted.” She followed him up the steps to the living room, and took a seat in an overstuffed armchair facing him as he sat down on the couch. 

“If you say so,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Should you change your mind, all you need to do is let me know and arrangements can be made.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. What I’d really like to know is who it was that found me out. I’m always careful and discreet with my hunting. The only people in the city who know me for who and what I am are you, Beckett and Brimstone.” 

Viktor nodded. “Your brother and his followers as well; but he is gone, and I can’t imagine the Ba’ali get along any better with the Camarilla than you or I would. This Brimstone; is he to be trusted?” 

“He’s the one who warned me about the Blood Hunt in the first place. He’s a Nosferatu that I rescued from the Ba’ali’s clutches a year or so back; ever since then, he’s passed information to me that has helped me hunt them. He was the one who clued me in to the fact that they’d moved to Philadelphia.” 

“Hmm.” He stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “I wonder how he had access to information about them.” 

She snorted. “How do the Nos get information about anything? Vitya, I don’t think he’d expose me to the Camarilla only to turn around and warn me in enough time to flee. If he were out to get me, he could have turned me in then and there, and gotten all sorts of honor for it. No, if he wanted me dead, I’d be dead.” 

“You’re probably correct; in that case, there is no trail leading to your betrayer that I can see. Perhaps your Nosferatu friend can gather more information for us that might lead to some answers.” 

“That’s a good idea. I will contact him tonight after I wake, and see what he can uncover.” She rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I can barely think straight.” 

“Before you go, one more question: did you leave behind anything important? I can send one of my servants to the house to retrieve any items you need.” 

Antigone shook her head. “It killed me to leave all the books, but they’re copies anyway. You have most of the originals, whether here or in Novgorod. Everything else that I couldn’t replace is here,” she patted her pockets, “or here;” she tapped her forehead, smiling. 

“Alright, then. To bed with you; we’ll talk again tonight. We will need to get you safely out of the city and away from the Camarilla’s hunters. I have plenty of people who owe me favors whom I can call on to help. You are safe here for tonight, Anya, but we need to get you somewhere they can’t find you.” 

“Agreed. Sleep well, Vitya.” She rose and hugged him tightly, kissing his cheek, and walked half-asleep down the hall to her bedroom. She was sleeping within seconds of hitting the pillow. 


	34. Chapter Thirty-four

**_ Thursday, March 11, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 6:15 PM _ **

The ringing of her cellular phone roused Antigone to full wakefulness. 

“What’s going on? Are you alright?” Beckett asked before she could even say a word.

“I’m safe for now, but, well…there’s been a Blood Hunt called on me.”

“Oh, fuck!”

“My sentiments exactly; I don’t know who could have found me out and turned me in, but I need to get the hell out of  New York tonight.”

“I wish I were there to help. Where are you?”

“I…I’m not one hundred percent certain that this line’s not being monitored; I don’t know what it’s safe to say. Let me put it this way: I’m not alone, and I’m with the person you’d most expect me to be with…after you, of course.”

“Understood. Do be careful, my dear, and please get in touch with me when you’re safe. I met with my contact last night, and the sample’s being analyzed starting tonight. As soon as I have answers, I’m out of here.”

“Alright. I’m not sure yet where I’ll go, but I’ll call you as soon as I can.” There was a knock at her door, and it opened a moment later as Viktor peeked in around the corner. “It’s Beckett,” she told him in a whisper, placing a hand over the speaker and indicating towards the phone with her chin.

“Let me speak with him, please?” She handed him the phone. “Beckett; Anya and I will be leaving here within the hour.”

“Good. Please…” his voice cracked. “Please keep her safe.”

“I shall. Have you made contact yet?”

“Yes, and I made it very clear to him that time was of the essence. I hope to hear something as soon as tomorrow night.”

“And were you given any indication that your contact knew anything about Anya?”

“No; why would he?”

“The Usurpers are the ones who brought word of her to the Camarilla.” 

Beckett snorted. “I’m surprised they even bothered, if they knew of her existence. From what I understand, they’ve always preferred the direct method of elimination. Asking permission nicely before eliminating an enemy doesn’t sound like their  _ modus operandi _ to me.”

“Hmm; perhaps not. Well, I will let you speak with Anya again, and then she and I will have to be going.” He handed the phone back to her.

“I will be in touch as soon as we’re settled, wherever we’re going,” she said.

“Please do. I’d give anything to be there with you to help keep you safe.”

“I’m as safe as my sword and his magic can keep me.”

“Keep working on the Protean meditations I taught you; you should be able to grow claws of your own soon, and they’ll do as much, if not more, damage than the sword. Plus, they’re a hell of a lot more portable and concealable.”

“Ok, will do. I have to go now.”

“Alright. I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.” She closed her eyes and flipped the phone shut. 

“I’ve called in a favor from a friend. We’ve got a private plane on standby at JFK. Grab what you think you’ll need, and let’s be off,” the Tzimisce said, leaning against the doorframe.

Antigone’s eyes opened. “Where are we going?”

He chuckled, his dark eyes glittering with mischief. “The last place on earth that anyone would ever look for a Salubri and a Tzimisce; we’re going to  Vienna .”

Her mouth opened in an O, but no sound came out.

“Close your mouth, Anya. You look like a fish.” He stepped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “We should get there sometime during the afternoon. Once it’s dark, we can leave the plane, and rather than call from your phone, on the chance that it is being monitored, we’ll call Beckett from a public phone.”

She nodded, smiling. “That sounds like a good plan. Thank you for making the arrangements; I honestly hadn’t given a lot of thought to where I’d go. This took me so completely unawares that it was all I could do to get here before dawn.”

He ruffled her hair and hugged her. “You’re my sister. It was the least I could do. Besides, I haven’t been out of the city in years; a trip abroad will be a welcome diversion. Now pack your things, and I’ll call for a car to take us to the airport.”


	35. Chapter Thirty-five

**_ riday, March 12, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 6:15 PM _ **

**_ Schwechat _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ Austria _ **

“The last time I was here,” Antigone commented as they disembarked the private jet, “this was the town of  Ala Nova , and  Vienna was a Roman military settlement called Vindobona.”

Viktor smiled. “That was long before my time. I was here last when this was the ducal seat of  Austria under the Babenbergs.”

“In other words, neither of us has a clue how to get around here,” she laughed. “I propose we hire a cab.”

“An excellent suggestion; Carlos, can you call a taxi for us?” he asked the pilot, a ghoul loyal to the Sabbat cardinal Polonia. “After we’re away, you’re free to come and go in the area as you please. I will call you to advise when we’re ready to fly back to the States.” The ghoul nodded and headed off towards the concourse to arrange for their ride.


	36. Chapter Thirty-six

**_ Friday, March 12, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 7:45 PM _ **

**_ Outside the  _ ** **_ Kunsthistorisches _ ** **__ ** **_ Museum _ **

**_ Vienna _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ Austria _ **

Antigone slipped a few schillings into the payphone and dialed the number of Beckett’s cellular phone. “Hey there, handsome. You’ll never in a million years guess where I am.” 

“How are you? Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine, and I’m fine. I’m somewhere along the Marie-Theresian Platz.”

“Marie-Theresian….you mean you’re here? In  Vienna ?” 

She laughed, “Mm-hmm. We only landed a few hours ago. I realized I had no idea where you’re staying, so we’ve just been wandering around like a couple of tourists. It’s been a real long time since either of us were here; neither of us has a clue where to go or how to get there. The last time I was here, Marcus Aurelius was big news.”

“I’m at the Hotel Sacher, room 215. It’s next door to the Opera House; big white building, Federalist architecture. I’ll call down to let the concierge know I’m expecting you.”

“Alright, we’ll flag down another cab and will be there shortly. See you soon.”


	37. Chapter Thirty-seven

**_ Friday, March 12, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 8:30 PM _ **

**_ Hotel Sacher _ **

**_ Vienna _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ Austria _ **

Beckett answered the door before the Salubri had finished knocking. He pulled her to him in a tight embrace, and she melted into his arms. “Thank god you’re safe,” he whispered into her ear, smoothing her hair and drinking in the scent of her. He looked up and met Viktor’s eyes. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for keeping her out of harm's way.” He freed one arm from around her and extended it to the Tzimisce, who clasped it in welcome. “But what the hell possessed you to come  _ here _ , of all places?”

“It’s the last place they’ll think to look for her. If you were a Salubri, would you come within a hundred miles of here?”

The Gangrel shook his head. “Absolutely not, and while I can see your logic, I am still leery of her being here. We’re within a half-mile of Fortschritt.”

“I’ve had her aura masked since last night. Between the two of us, we should be able to keep her identity hidden.”

Antigone looked at them and sighed. “Will the two of you please stop talking about me as if I weren’t here?”

“I’m sorry,” Beckett said, and kissed her on the cheek. “Come in, both of you. After you called, I spoke with the front desk; the next room over was vacant, so I took the liberty of renting that as well for you, Viktor.” They entered the room and he closed the door behind them. 

The suite had a main sitting room, where they settled to talk. After recounting the events of the last couple of nights, Antigone excused herself to the bedroom for her meditations, leaving the two men alone.

**

Antigone lay in the dark, concentrating with all her might on the Protean meditations Beckett had taught her weeks earlier, but with no success. Once or twice, she felt as if something might be happening, but there was no sign that the claws he could manifest almost without a thought were going to appear for her. Frustrated, she turned her mind instead to the more familiar meditations on  Golconda that she’d been practicing for centuries; these came readily to her, and her mind roamed down paths well-known and long-traveled. A part of her consciousness remained aware of the atmosphere of tension from the next room, and she hoped that whatever issues Beckett and Viktor were dealing with resolved without coming to direct conflict.

The door to the bedroom opened, and although her eyes were closed, she had no difficulty recognizing Beckett from his aura. He stepped into the room quietly and shut the door behind him without a sound. She turned and sat up in the bed, holding the covers up around herself. “How’d it go?” she asked. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” he murmured. “I thought you’d gone to sleep.” He crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed.

She shook her head. “No, I was working on those thrice-damned Protean lessons of yours, but not getting very far.”

He leaned close and kissed her. “Give it time, it will come. Look at how easily the very basics came to you; I have faith that you’ll succeed.”

“So it seems you and Viktor managed not to kill one another,” she grinned. “Did he have anything to say to you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Did he ever! I know you’ve always referred to him as the brother you should have had; he evidently feels the same way about you, and takes his fraternal responsibilities quite seriously.”

“Oh no,” she said, stifling a giggle. “What did he do?”

“He told me he’d already heard your version, but he wanted to know everything; how we met, what has gone on between us, how I felt about you; but most importantly, he wanted to know my intentions towards you and to ensure they were honorable.”

She covered her face with her hands, rocking with suppressed laughter. “He didn’t!”

“He most certainly did.” Beckett grinned wryly. “I’m  _ so _ glad that you’re amused by this, darling.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, but still fought to keep a straight face. “Well, what did you tell him?”

“What do you think I told him? The truth, of course; that I am madly in love with you and would never intentionally hurt you. He made it quite clear that, even if it was unintentional, if I ever hurt you, he’d make sure it was the last thing I ever did.”

“Oh gods; I’ll talk to him tomorrow and tell him to relax a little.”

The Gangrel smiled and kissed her. “No need to do that. It’s actually quite comforting to know that there is someone besides me who cares that much for you and is as concerned about your well-being as I am.” He pushed the covers away from her shoulders and grinned. “Now, if I’d have known you were in here awake and lying naked in the bed, I would have made sure to get in here far sooner than I did.” He ran his hands over her bare shoulders and down her back, and she reached for him and pulled him close so she could kiss him.

“Why don’t you get rid of all those clothes and join me?” she whispered in between kisses.

“Mmm…what an excellent idea.” He stood and undressed, and slid beneath the sheets beside her, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her. She turned so that she was facing him, and moved closer so their bodies were touching.

“It feels like forever since you held me,” she whispered, nuzzling his neck and feathering kisses across his collarbone. His hands cupped her breasts and he traced circles with his thumbs over her nipples, loving the way they grew tight and firm beneath his touch. 

“I could have kicked myself for not thinking of having you come with me at least as far as  London ,” he said, kissing her and drawing her lower lip between his teeth and gently nipping it. It was enough to draw a bead of dark blood, and he kissed her again, licking it from her lip and eliciting a soft moan from her as he did. Her hands moved lower, and he sighed with pleasure as they found his shaft. With a moment’s concentration, he willed blood there and closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation as his organ grew firm and erect within her grasp.

Antigone trailed kisses down his neck and onto his chest, echoing the way he had touched her, running her tongue in circles around one of his nipples before taking it between her teeth. His breath escaped him with a harsh gasp as she continued lower, alternately kissing and gently biting the flesh of his abdomen before moving to the tender area of his inner thigh. Beckett reflexively thrust his hips towards her, his shaft rubbing against her as she laved kisses at the juncture of his torso and thigh, driving him nearly mad with pleasure. 

“Don’t stop,” he breathed, twining his hands in her hair. And she didn’t stop, turning her attention at last to his manhood, parting her lips slightly and looking up to meet his eyes moments before taking him into her mouth. He arched his back and groaned; she released him and smiled, letting her fangs lengthen before oh-so-carefully slipping one of them into the large vein along the top of his shaft and drinking the rich, dark vitae within.

Beckett had lost all sense of time; it might have been moments or hours that she drank from him. He finally came to his senses enough to reach down and brush her hair from her face and gently tilt her face up towards him. She licked the tiny incision closed and moved up to settle beside him. He needed to be inside her, to feel her surrounding him.

“Get up on your hands and knees,” he whispered; her eyes widened slightly and she smiled before turning over and doing so. He knelt behind her and reached forward with one hand, his fingers caressing her folds and parting her so he could enter. With a single thrust, he was deep within her. She cried out his name and he plunged his full length into her as he fell forward and sank his fangs into her shoulder, her vitae flooding his mouth like the sweetest wine. Antigone ground her hips rhythmically against his, and after a few moments she gasped and shuddered as a powerful orgasm gripped her. His followed only seconds behind, and he collapsed breathless beside her.

**


	38. Chapter Thirty-eight

**_ Friday, March 12, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 10:00 PM _ **

**_ Somewhere in Midtown  _ ** **_ Manhattan _ **

“Are you  _ sure _ about this? A Salubri, here in  New York ?” Questioning the Ventrue might not be the wisest thing he’d ever done, but Theo Bell still could hardly believe the latest assignment the Camarilla had dumped on his shoulders.

“Quite certain, Mr. Bell. I’m sure she won’t be much of a challenge for someone of your talents, but nevertheless, we are taking no chances. A less capable Cainite might not be as thorough or as circumspect as you. Our sources claim she’s been living on the  Upper East Side ; here is her last known address. You may destroy her there or bring her back intact to face justice; that decision I leave up to you.” The tall blonde vampire handed him a slip of paper with an address written upon it. “Don’t return until you’ve successfully dealt with this situation.”

Well, that was a dismissal if he’d ever heard one. Sighing and pocketing the paper, the Brujah nodded a respectful bow at the Ventrue and walked out of the room. He’d stake out the area tonight, get some information and the lay of the land, and depending on how things went, he could wrap this mess up before dawn or perhaps tomorrow evening at the latest. Everything he’d ever heard about the Salubri, which admittedly wasn’t much, led him to wonder if she was guilty of all the things the Camarilla claimed she was.  _ Don’t think too much, man _ , he chided himself.  _ They don’t pay you to  _ **_ think _ ** _ , they pay you to  _ **_ do _ ** _. _ So he would do.


	39. Chapter Thirty-nine

**_ Friday, March 12, 1998 _ ** **__ ** **_ 11:45 PM _ **

**_ Somewhere in lower  _ ** **_ Manhattan _ **

“Bring her in,” Malphas told the neonate. The fledgling Ba’ali nodded and left the room, followed by a pair of his compatriots. Malphas picked up the scalpel and tested the blade on his fingertip; a dark bead of blood welled forth, and although he licked the wound, it did not close. He applied pressure to the area, but vitae continue to ooze from the puncture. He nodded to himself; the blade was ready. He lapped up the thin stream of blood that ran down his finger and reached with the other hand for the flask of Elixir on the table next to him. Carefully drawing up a single drop in a glass eyedropper, he moved it over the wound and squeezed it; he flinched slightly as the green liquid touched his skin with a hiss, but then smiled with pride and satisfaction as the flow of blood stopped and the wound sealed itself. A tiny glowing spot of green remained on his fingertip.

His acolytes returned, carrying in an immobilized Cainite. They dumped her unceremoniously on the black marble altar and repositioned her, moving her feet together and crossing her arms over her chest, each hand to the opposite shoulder.

Catelyn Ross of Clan Toreador desperately willed her body to obey, but the stake impaling her heart held her fast. She screamed silently within her mind as the Ba’ali moved to surround her prone form and took up a chant. One of them held a scalpel that gleamed wickedly; with her heightened senses, she could make out tiny runes etched into the steel’s surface. Another stood beside him, holding almost reverentially a glass beaker containing a bubbling neon green liquid.

The Toreador frantically struggled to move as the scalpel descended, but her efforts were in vain. She would have shrieked in agony, were she still in command of her body, as the steel bit into her flesh. Catelyn thought the pain couldn’t possibly get any worse, but found to her horror that she was wrong when the Ba’ali set aside the scalpel after carving her body into bloody ruin, and took the beaker from his assistant. He tilted it and a trickle of the green liquid within dripped to her skin, and Catelyn’s world caught fire.

The burning agony went on and on, and the Beast within her fought with futile desperation to escape. She was vaguely aware that the chanting had increased in volume and pace, and then suddenly, she was no longer alone in her own mind.

An utterly alien presence manifested itself within her consciousness; somehow, she knew it called itself Chal’gath, and was for some reason called a Child. As if it had heard her thoughts, it turned its attention to her, and she felt her mind laid bare, her innermost thoughts and secrets exposed and picked through. She tried to no avail to pull up some sort of mental defense; the last thing she was aware of was Chal’gath casually casting aside her efforts, and then Catelyn was gone, and only Chal’gath remained.


	40. Chapter Forty

**_ Saturday, March 13, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 5:30 PM _ **

**_ Hotel Sacher _ **

**_ Vienna _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ Austria _ **

Antigone woke and noticed a soft golden light at the edges of the draperies. She carefully and quietly got out of the bed so as not to disturb the last minutes of Beckett’s slumber, and padded over to the window. She pulled aside the heavy drapes that blocked the light and protected them from the sun as they slept, and gasped at the sight before her. The sky was a radiant blend of rose, gold and shades of orange that ranged from peach to a brilliant vermillion, and dark lavender-grey clouds lay low to the horizon.  _ I don’t know when I last saw a sunset, _ she thought, trying to remember _. Hundreds of years, definitely. _ She’d noticed a gradual trend over decades and centuries of waking later and retiring earlier; such was the price, she mused, of her age. She turned back to Beckett, still asleep, the golden glow of the sky burnishing his brown hair to bronze and copper. His features were relaxed and the slightest of smiles turned up the corners of his mouth.  _ All those centuries alone were worth it to have found him _ , she thought with a smile of her own.  _ If I had it all to do over again, knowing that  _ **_ he _ ** _ would be waiting for me, I would without a moment’s hesitation. _

As if he’d heard her thoughts, the Gangrel stirred and opened his eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked, his brow wrinkling.

“Watching the sun set; this is the first time I’ve seen one since maybe the tenth or eleventh century. Come see it, it’s beautiful.”

He stood and stretched before walking over to where she stood, and looked out the window before turning back to her and taking her in his arms. “It’s very pretty,” he said, kissing her. “But not as pretty as you are.”

She chuckled. “Silly man.” The curtain fell closed again as she released it to wrap her arms around him. “This is a rare treat for me; I usually wake up as the last light is fading.”

“I’m glad you got to see it.” He kissed her again. “But is there any way I can convince you to come back to bed for a while?”

Antigone smiled and trailed her fingers down his chest. “I’m sure you can convince me…”

About twenty minutes into their lovemaking, they were interrupted by a knock at the door that communicated with Viktor’s room. “Anya? Beckett? Are you awake?”

Beckett gave a low growl, glaring at the door, but called out, “Be right there.” Turning back to her he whispered, “Do we finish this later, or ignore him?”

She grinned. “As much as I’d love to ignore him, I shudder to think of the lecture I’ll get from him later.”

“Good point. Until later, then.” He kissed her and withdrew, rolling out of the bed and pulling on his jeans. She reached for her t-shirt and jeans as well, and was finishing dressing as Beckett strode to the door barefoot and shirtless, and opened it.

Viktor stood there, patiently waiting. “I’m not disturbing anything, I hope,” he said, barely concealing a smirk. “I did think, though, that you’d want to know there was someone in the hallway, and whomever it was stopped to test the wards I’d placed on both our rooms before retiring.”

“Samir,” the Gangrel said. “That’s my best guess, anyways.” He walked back into the bedroom and opened the door to the sitting room. “Aha.” A small white envelope lay on the floor, apparently having been slid beneath the door to the suite. He picked it up and turned it over; it was sealed with the Tremere crest in wax the color of fresh blood. He broke the seal and pulled out a sheet of thick vellum covered with spidery handwriting. “I was right, it’s from Samir.” He scanned through the letter and smiled before handing it to Viktor, who had followed him into the sitting room. “We’ve got some answers; there are still more results pending, but there is some good, solid information.” He sat on the couch and beckoned for Antigone to come sit beside him.

The Tzimisce’s eyes widened as he read. “This is fascinating,” he murmured. “I would love to know how they managed to find this out.” He passed the letter to Antigone, who by that time was seated on the couch besides Beckett, and then he took a seat in an armchair facing them.

_ Beckett~ Preliminary testing showed a very high concentration of Shadow Plane energies in the sample; they’ve proven to be highly reactive to Kindred vitae. The shadow motes seem to bind to the blood and change it into something completely different. Will contact you later this evening with an update. ~Samir _

“I’m assuming this means something to the two of you,” she said, setting the missive down on a side table. The two men nodded. “Good, because I have no idea what he’s talking about.” She ran her hands through her hair, gathering it back in a queue. “I don’t know how either of you are faring, but I need to feed tonight.”

“I’d really rather you not venture out alone here in  Vienna ,” Beckett said, and the Tzimisce nodded in agreement. 

Antigone sighed. “Alright, so who wants to play chaperone? I’m older than both of you combined, you know.”

“Anya, you know that has nothing to do with it. I agree with Beckett, it’s far too dangerous for you to be alone in this city.”

Beckett squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll go with you. We can work on those Protean lessons while we’re at it.”

“Good idea,” she nodded. “And since you know your way around this place, you can show me the sights while we’re out.  Vienna ’s come a long way from the camp besides the  Danube I remember.”


	41. Chapter Forty-one

**_ Saturday, March 13, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 11:30 PM _ **

**_ Along the banks of the  _ ** **_ Danube _ **

**_ Vienna _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ Austria _ **

"Beckett!"

The Gangrel turned at the sound of his name. "Ah…hello, Samir." The dark-skinned newcomer moved towards them, smiling. "Seldom do I see you in such attractive company. I don't believe we've been introduced." He extended a hand to Antigone. 

She reached for his hand as Beckett spoke, his mind racing to come up with a story that would protect her. "Antigone, this is Samir, an associate of mine and an Adept of Clan Tremere." A chill coursed through her and she repressed the urge to shudder as her flesh and the Usurper's met in a handshake. She somehow schooled her voice and emotions to calm politeness but broke away as quickly as could be considered civil, before he had a chance to raise her hand to his lips as he'd begun to do. "Samir, may I introduce Antigone, my childe and partner." 

The Tremere raised a dark eyebrow curiously. "Your childe?" He scrutinized her with more attention, and she felt her hackles rise. "Then I suppose she can't be the Antigone that my Clan's been looking for." 

She swallowed hard, but smiled with as much sweetness and innocence as she could manage. "Why would you be looking for me?" She mentally kicked her Beast down and projected an air of serenity as best she could, but couldn't help folding her arms defensively across her chest. 

"No, not you...not if you're Beckett's childe. The Antigone I was referring to is one of the last of the foul Salubri clan; she poses as a simple healer, but she's a most dangerous diabolist and trafficker with demons, and a known murderer of our kind. Rumor has it she was last sighted in  New York , but is believed to have left there and it’s anyone’s guess where she could be now. It's  _ most _ unfortunate that you share her name." 

"Blame Sophocles," Beckett muttered.

Antigone smiled wickedly and let her eyes gleam red for a moment, fixing the Usurper with a challenging stare. "I have pity for anyone who thinks I am a simple healer, but none for any who think me a diabolist." 

The Warlock raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Indeed. With, ahem,  _ attributes _ like that, my dear, no one is ever likely to confuse you for her."

She nodded. "And if they do, it will likely be the last mistake they make. So tell me, how would I know her if I encountered her?"

Samir pondered for a moment. "I don't have an eyewitness description of her, unfortunately. Her third eye would be a certain giveaway, but that can be hidden under a hat or scarf. But don't worry yourself over it, dear," he said with a condescending smile. "We Tremere are hunting her, and we will find her one of these nights. We can spot a single Salubri in a crowd of thousands." 

_ Oh really? _ Here she had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. "Well then, with you looking out for me, I shall not fear, sir." 

The Moroccan sorcerer bowed low before her and then turned to Beckett. “I have more information for you. The rest will take about a week before there are any results. From the looks of things, you may be in over your head, my friend.” He handed the Gangrel an envelope much like the one from earlier in the evening. “Call me if you have any questions. I will be in touch in a week’s time.” 

Beckett placed a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you, Samir. We have business to attend to now that's waited long enough. Samir, if you'll excuse us?" The Warlock nodded in understanding, and the Gangrel lead her away. When they were safely out of earshot, he turned and grabbed her by the shoulders, glaring at her. "What the Hell was that all about? If I still had a beating heart, you would've given me a fucking coronary!" His already-red eyes flashed as if with fire. 

She grinned mischievously. "I couldn't help it. He was so full of himself.  _ 'I'd spot a single Salubri in a crowd of thousands'  _ indeed! Besides, it was all I could do not to tear his throat out for the way he described me. The bastard." 

He sighed and released his grip, pulling her to him in a rough embrace. "I worry about you sometimes. But I bet you're the only one of your clan to face down a Warlock like that." 

"Mmhmm. You're probably right about that." She looked up at him, suddenly serious. "Too many of them never even had the chance."

Beckett nodded and kissed her forehead where her third eye remained closed and hidden. "I would do anything in my power to keep you safe, but please try to refrain from taunting the Warlocks in the future." 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I will."

“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “I don’t want to even contemplate losing you.”

She squeezed him tightly, her head against his chest.


	42. Chapter Forty-two

**_ Saturday, March 13, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 10:30 PM _ **

**_ Central Park _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ Manhattan _ **

Theo Bell walked through the darkened park with a predatory grace that kept the muggers and panhandlers at a safe distance.  _ That’s right, don’t fuck with me, _ he thought.  _ I’m your worst nightmare made real.  _ He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and reviewed the address again; he was not far from the Salubri’s reputed haven. He crossed a path and jogged towards the eastern border of the park, when suddenly something off in the distance caught his eye.  _ Someone’s getting their ass handed to them, _ he thought as he jogged closer to get a better look. He was about five hundred yards away, and it was blatantly obvious that the two combatants were vampires; it was also obvious that the dark-haired woman was going to kick the shit out of the Nosferatu. Bell, being a Camarilla archon, had the responsibility to shut things down before a mortal wandered by and the Masquerade was violated. _ Just as well; it’s been a good week since my last fight, don’t want to get rusty.  _ He grinned and joined the battle, positioning himself between the two Cainites.

“What the fuck’s going on here?”  Bell shouted, shoving the female back and dodging a blow from the Nosferatu that had been meant for her. 

She snarled at him, fangs bared, and her eyes blazed brilliant green. “Fine;  _ your _ soul will serve just as well.” The Brujah grabbed for her wrists, but she moved with inhuman speed and was behind him in a blink. He turned as her punch connected with his side, and slammed a fist into her chest. She staggered slightly but moved with a roundhouse kick that caught him with the force of a truck, knocking him back into a row of bushes. Before he could right himself, she was on him, her fangs seeking his throat. The Nosferatu had disappeared into the night.

Theo struggled and finally tossed her off of him, but not before her fangs had scored hits against his cheek and shoulder. The wounds burned as if someone had put a lit match to his skin, and resisted his efforts to heal them. The Brujah archon was not used to being outclassed in hand-to-hand combat, but he was beginning to think he was out of his league. He backed away from her and gathered all his strength for one last punch, aiming for her jaw. It connected with a force that snapped her head to the side, and her neck broke with an audible crack. Theo expected the combat to end there, but she grasped her neck with both hands and began to work her shattered spine back into alignment.  _ Ah fuck; time for a strategic retreat, _ he thought, and turned and ran off into the night while she was busy healing.  _ If that was a Salubri, I’m Queen of the fucking May, _ he thought. He didn’t stop running until he hit Midtown. 


	43. Chapter Forty-three

**_ Sunday, March 14, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 2:30 AM _ **

**_ Hotel Sacher _ **

**_ Vienna _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ Austria _ **

Viktor Ilanovich re-read the update from the Tremere warlock for what he supposed was the fourth or fifth time; it was informative, to be sure, but chilling. Finally, he tossed the letter onto the table and rubbed his eyes wearily. “So it seems that the Ba’ali have created a formula that stands a good chance of being successful.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I wasn’t thrilled to find that out, either.” Beckett sat sprawled on the couch; Antigone lay with her head on his lap, her feet dangling off the other end of the couch. “And not only that, but it sounds to me that any Cainite with a demon bound to him or her is going to be next to unstoppable. I hope to hell when I hear from him next, Samir’s found a way to destroy or otherwise incapacitate a Demon-Kindred.”

Antigone nodded. “So do I; hopefully, they had enough of a setback with the explosion that we won’t be seeing any of their creations any time soon.” 

“We can’t count on that,” Viktor sighed. “When did he tell you he’d have more information, Beckett?”

“In about a week.”

Antigone groaned and sat up. “Wonderful, I get to spend a whole week in a place where I can’t go out alone and am cooped up in a room for the rest of the time.”

“No one’s said we have to stay here,” Beckett said, curling a strand of her hair around one of his fingers. “Samir can reach me just as easily by phone or email if he has to. I’d be more comfortable, too, if you didn’t stay in any one place for too long.”

“Agreed; the more we move about, the less likely it is that anyone will find Anya.” 

The Salubri stood and walked over to the table, where she’d set up her laptop. She clicked it on and opened her e-mail. There was something from Brimstone. 

_ Heya Goldilocks~ Hope you are still among the unliving. Be glad you left  _ _ New York _ _ when you did, there’s some bad mojo going down. Last night I ran into an old friend of mine, only she didn’t act like she knew me anymore. It was like she was possessed; then again, her telling me she was going to ‘devour my soul’ might’ve been what made me think that. I barely made it out of there in one piece. Don’t know if she was hunting you or not, but just be careful. Drop me a line when you can. _

She hastily typed a reply. 

_ Hey yourself. I’m safe for the moment, keeping myself busy. What’s the word on the street about me? You be careful, too. ~A _

“Anything good?” Beckett asked.   
  
”Just an email from Brimstone. He met an old friend who tried to kill him.”

“Those are the worst kind of friends,” Viktor smirked. “I have a few of those myself.”


	44. Chapter Forty-four

**_ Sunday, March 14, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 3:30 AM _ **

**_ The  _ ** **_ Upper East Side _ ** **_ of  _ ** **_ Manhattan _ **

The Brujah stood in front of the old brownstone and checked the address against the note; they matched.  _ Come out, come out, wherever you are, little Salubri. _ He tried the door; it was locked. It would be nothing for him to simply bash down the door, but he’d lose any chance of surprising her if she were home, so he pulled a lock pick from his back pocket and got to work. After a moment, the first lock gave, and he moved on to the other two. Finally, when all three were unlocked, he slowly eased the door open. He stood in a vestibule facing a second door, which was also locked.  _ Welcome to  _ _ New York _ _ ,  _ he thought with a silent chuckle. After jimmying the lock on the second door, he carefully opened it a crack so he could see inside.

The room was empty. He walked in and scanned his surroundings. Bookcases, lots of them, lined the walls. Theo silently moved through the room towards the doorway and into the hall. No one was at home, it seemed. There were two bedrooms, although only one looked like it had been recently used; the drawers of both bureaus were open and looked as if they’d been hastily gone through.  _ Looks like someone got enough advance warning to get the hell out of Dodge, _ he thought.  _ I wonder who tipped her off?  _ He was about to give up and head out, when something caught his eye. There was a dark bloodstain on the bed sheet, almost hidden by the pillows; it was long-dried, but that didn’t matter. He leaned close and sniffed it; there was something familiar about it that he couldn’t place. He licked the dark red stain to taste it, and his eyes widened. Now he knew why it smelled familiar; the blood had come from someone he knew. Someone who definitely wasn’t a Salubri, but who from the looks of things was either with her, or hunting her…and from what he knew of him, he suspected it was  _ not _ the latter. Maybe he was even the one who’d alerted the Salubri about the Blood Hunt.  _ I wouldn’t put it past him. _

Beckett.


	45. Chapter Forty-five

**_Sunday, March 14, 1998_ ** **_,_ ** **_9:00 PM_ **

**_Schwechat_ ** **_,_ ** **_Austria_ **

“Carlos, have you gotten clearance for us to depart?” 

The ghoul looked over his shoulder. “Just now, Senor Ilanovich. We are cleared for takeoff.” 

The Tzimisce nodded and left the cockpit, heading back to the passenger area of the jet. “We should be taking off momentarily,” he told his companions. “He filed a flight path for us from here to London; once we’re in the air and headed west, he’ll file for a change to Shannon. That ought to throw off anyone who might be following us.” 

Once they were in the air, Antigone opened her laptop. “Vitya, this jet is wonderful. Please tell your friend thank you again, when you see him next.” She clicked open her email. 

“Whose jet is this? I assumed it was yours, Viktor,” the Gangrel asked. 

“I borrowed it from a friend; he owes me more favors than he can possibly repay, and is probably worried that he’ll soon be deeper in my debt now that the Camarilla’s gotten such a hold on the city. Francisco’s taken the loss of New York poorly.” 

“Francisco…wait, as in _Francisco Domingo de Polonia_?” Beckett’s eyes widened and his brows rose. The Tzimisce nodded in confirmation. _So he’s on a first-name basis with the Cardinal of the East Coast, is he? Curiouser and curiouser…_ “Well, it certainly is a hell of a lot more convenient than how I got here. Two weeks over the open ocean was not conducive to peaceful slumbers, I can tell you.” 

“When I first came to America, it took the ship nearly a month, and it was steam-powered. I barely slept at all from Odessa to New York Harbor.” Viktor shuddered at the memory. “Between the sea beneath me and the coal fires constantly burning in the boiler rooms, it was a trip I care never to repeat.” 

Antigone nodded. “My first trip to America was much the same. I’ll take a plane over a ship any day.” 

  
From the cockpit, Carlos’ voice crackled through the speakers in the cabin. “The change from Heathrow to Shannon has been approved. We should be landing in about two hours.” 

The Salubri’s computer chimed, indicating the arrival of new e-mail. It was from the Nosferatu. 

_More bad news, Goldilocks. Had a chance to listen in on the Primogen Council tonight, and they’re not happy. Sounds like I’m not the only one who ran into my old friend Catie; she did a number on the Brujah archon_ _Bell_ _last night. He had some nasty bite marks where she tried to turn his neck into dinner; he said he was hunting ‘the Salubri’ when he ran into Catie. The Tremere Primogen got a good look at the bites and got even paler, if you can believe that. She said something about the bites being ‘demonic’, and tried to pin it on you. Gotta give_ _Bell_ _credit here, he said there was no way the vamp who bit him was a Salubri. Another thing he said is that he’d found traces of another vamp at your place, someone named Beckett. They all seemed to know who he was talking about, and I’m guessing you do too. Anyways, stay safe and stay the hell out of_ _New York_ _._ _Poughkeepsie_ _’s sounding good to me right around now._

“Ah, **_fuck!_ **” Antigone put her head in her hands and groaned. “No, no…this is bad.” 

Beckett turned the monitor so he could read, and cursed loudly before moving it for the Tzimisce to read it as well. His hands were clenched into fists, and it was only the fact that he knew punching a hole in the wall in an airborne plane would be a very bad thing indeed that kept him from doing so. 

“If the Warlock was right, and the bites were demonic…the chance of a demon-ridden vampire that is unconnected to the Ba’ali is next to impossible.” 

Antigone looked up, a determined expression on her face. “We’re going back to New York, or at least I am.” 

“There’s a Blood Hunt on you there, dearest, or had you forgotten?” Beckett’s jaw was clenched. 

“I don’t give a damn. I want my home back.” 

“Why don’t we lay low in Ireland for a few days and see what further information the Usurpers are able to extract from the Elixir? I personally have no desire to fight something I don’t know how to kill.” Viktor put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “Anya, if we can find a way to destroy this thing the Ba’ali have made, I will go back with you.” 

“As will I,” Beckett said. “And there’s always the outside chance that, if we were to show up with a solution to the Camarilla’s problem, the Primogen might be, _ahem_ , convinced to call off the Blood Hunt.” 

“And if not, the Sabbat would shelter you; I’d call in whatever favors I had to, as long as you were safe.” 

She sighed. “All my life, I’ve tried to stay away from Kindred politics, and here I am up to my teeth in them. Fine, we’ll stop in Ireland for a few days, and see what comes.” She sent a quick reply to Brimstone and shut the computer off, snapping it shut and stowing it away in the leather carry bag. 

** 


	46. Chapter Forty-six

**_ Monday, March 15, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 8:00 PM _ **

**_ Dromoland _ ** **__ ** **_ Castle _ **

**_ Newmarket-on-Fergus _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ County _ ** **__ ** **_ Clare _ **

**_ Ireland _ **

“I have to admit, stopping here for a few nights was a wonderful idea,” Antigone grinned. “I haven’t been any place like this for a long, long time.” They’d taken adjoining suites in the five-star hotel at Carlos’ recommendation; apparently, this was a favorite stopover for Polonia on his visits back to the Continent. 

Beckett busied himself connecting his laptop to the hotel’s server and logged in to his email when it was finally done.

“Aha. Something from Samir.” He opened the email and read it, and a broad smile creased his face. “He did it. We’ve got our answers.”

Antigone and Viktor moved close to read over the Gangrel’s shoulder. “Hmm,” murmured the Tzimisce, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. “It makes sense that it would be especially vulnerable to fire, and given the demonic nature of the creature, holy water makes a lot of sense as well. But a powdered mix of asafetida and fenugreek is something I’d never have guessed.”

“Me neither,” Beckett concurred. “That should be easily obtained. The holy water…I’m not completely certain it would work in the absence of True Faith, but it’s worth a try at least. I’d say fire as a last resort; yeah, it’ll take out the demon, but it could backfire and take us out as well. Not what I’d call a good strategy.” He typed a quick reply to the Tremere, thanking him for his efforts. 

Antigone set up her laptop beside his and checked her own email; there was another update from Brimstone. 

_ “Things are really going down the crapper here fast. There was another attack last night; a couple of Brujah went looking for Catie and I followed them, not that they knew it. Anyways, she destroyed the pair of them. She drained them both dry. Each time, a real bright green light shone all around her. I swear she knew I was hiding there; she looked straight at me and smiled. Gave me the creeps; I don’t think I’ll sleep well for a week. Chances are, they’ll be blaming this one on you again. Hope you’re safe and far away.” _

“She’s a demon-Kindred,” Antigone said grimly. “I’m certain of it.”

Viktor nodded. “Unfortunately, I believe you’re right.”

“Now that we know how to destroy it, we have to go back.” She clicked off the computer without replying to the email and stowed it away once more. “Or I do, anyway. Blood Hunt or not, we’re the only ones who can stop this.” She stood and walked into the next room of the suite, where Carlos lounged watching the television. “Carlos, we’re heading back to  New York . How soon do you think we can leave?”

The ghoul sat up and reached for the remote control, shutting off the television. “I should be able to get clearance for takeoff within the hour. We can be on the ground at JFK by dawn, and our hangar’s as safe as you could want; you can stay there until dusk.”

“Fine, let’s get started. We’re going home.”


	47. Chapter Forty-seven

**_ Tuesday, March 15, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 11:00 PM _ **

**_ Cleopatra’s Needle,  _ ** **_ Central Park _ **

**_ Manhattan _ **

After waking at dusk in the hangar at  Kennedy Airport , the three Cainites bid Carlos farewell and set off for  Manhattan . Antigone found a payphone and called Brimstone, setting up a meeting in  Central Park . Viktor set out to gather the herbs they’d need, but Beckett remained with her. The Nosferatu was quite surprised to hear she was in the City, but readily agreed to meet with her at Cleopatra’s Needle. 

Brimstone appeared suddenly out of the shadows. “You’re crazier than a barrel of Malks to be here, Goldilocks,” he whispered. “What you got planned?”

“It’s a long story. The bottom line is that we’re pretty sure we know how to take care of the demon-kindred.”

“Oh, really? You know the Camarilla still swears it’s you making all the trouble.” He glanced over at the bushes at the edge of the footpath.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

There was a sound from the underbrush, and Beckett turned, claws sprouting from his fingers and piercing the thin leather of his gloves.

“You’re not the one who attacked me,” a deep voice rumbled from the bushes, and a dark-skinned, muscular Cainite emerged. “But for all I know, you’re in league with her. You’re coming with me; you too, Beckett.” He held a sawed-off shotgun and waved it casually at each of them in turn as he spoke.

“ Bell , you have no idea what you’re up against. Give us a moment to explain,” the Gangrel spoke, the Beast threatening to rise up within him. Antigone reached for him, but he shook his head, and she stepped back warily.

“What’s there to explain? All I know is the Primogen are freaked out and howling for blood. Better your blood than mine, man.”

“You fought her, didn’t you? The Demon-Kindred?” Antigone asked. The Brujah turned to face her.    


“ _ Demon-Kindred? _ Is that what that was? Yeah, I fought her a couple of nights back.”

“We’ve got the knowledge and the means to destroy her. Let us go so we can find her and do it; better yet, come with us and help. This way, you’ll know I have nothing to do with it.”

“Lady, I was born at night, but not last night. There’s a bounty on your head; all I’m looking to do is bring you in. Others might not bother with that, they’d just waste you right here.”

She nodded. “I understand; and my name’s Antigone. I give you my word that once we’ve dealt with the Demon-Kindred, I’ll go with you...”

“No!” Beckett’s head whipped back to her. “They’ll destroy you.”

“…provided you still are insistent upon it.”  _ I didn’t promise  _ **_ where _ ** _ I’d go with you, or that I’d go quietly…or immediately,  _ she thought. She hated to split hairs and equivocate like this, but if that was what it took to buy their freedom, she’d do whatever was necessary and expedient.

The archon considered for a moment before nodding. “Alright. I wouldn’t recommend trying anything, though.” He hefted his shotgun to his shoulder. “Trigger finger’s a bit itchy since the other night.”

Antigone stepped close to the Gangrel and reached for his hand. Beckett’s claws retracted and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding before taking her hand in his. “We wouldn’t dream of it,” he drawled sarcastically. He turned to glare at the Nosferatu, but he’d disappeared back into the shadows.  _ Damn. If he goes running off and siccing more of the Camarilla on us, he’ll be even uglier once I’m through with him. _

“Oh, and one more thing; you should know that someone else will be joining us in a few minutes,” Antigone said. “He’s gone to get some of the things we’re going to need. I thought I’d forewarn you so that we can avoid another scene like this one. As for the Demon-Kindred: where have the sightings been?”

Theo chuckled. “They’ve been a hell of a lot more than  _ sightings _ . I ran into her here in the Park, but there were a couple of other encounters with her east of here; Upper East Side, mostly.”

“I wonder…” her words trailed off.  _ I wonder if they’ve set her to hunt me, or if it’s just a coincidence. I’ve been around far too long to believe in coincidence, especially where the Ba’ali are concerned. _ “As soon as Viktor gets here, I want to go back to my place. I have an idea.”  _ And if I’m right, she may just be there waiting for us. _

“What’ve you got planned?”  Bell cocked his head and looked at her. “I was at your house night before last; no one and nothing’s there.”

“Not yet,” she nodded. “But I don’t think we’ll have long to wait. Sooner or later, they’ll come looking for me there.”

“Who’s  _ they _ ? There’s not more than one of this thing, is there?’

“No, no. Gods, I hope not,” she shuddered at the thought. “The Ba’ali. They’re the ones who created the Demon-Kindred.”

“Ba’ali? Here in  New York ? You’re kidding, right?” The Brujah gave her a doubting look. “Last I heard of them, they were all concentrated down in  Mexico City for some reason, but something big went down there that took them all out.”

“They’re here, all right,” Beckett said. “She and I fought them here in  Manhattan and in  Philadelphia too.”

“I’ve been fighting them for centuries,” Antigone said grimly. “This is a relatively new plot of theirs, to join a demon with a Cainite host. We learned about it not that long ago, and were busy trying to find a way to undo it when we discovered they’d been successful. Destroying this…this  _ thing _ they’ve created has got to take precedence over going after the rest of the Ba’ali, but once we’ve done that, we’ll still have them to deal with.” She looked  Bell in the eye. “Or you will, if I’m not around to do it.”

Beckett spotted the Tzimisce approaching and waved him over to them. “Viktor’s back.”

“I got far more than we’ll probably need, just to be sure.” Viktor looked pointedly at the Brujah before turning to Antigone with an inquiring expression on his face.

“Viktor, this is Theo Bell, one of the Archons of Clan Brujah,” Beckett said by way of introduction.

The Koldun nodded and bowed. “Viktor Andrei Ilanovich at your service.”

The expression on  Bell ’s face was priceless, Beckett though with a smirk. “ _ Ilanovich _ ?” He turned back to the Salubri and the Gangrel. “What the fuck’s going on here? He’s with the Sabbat.”

“Technically speaking, I’m independent. I’ve been known to associate with and assist them from time to time, but I personally am not a member of that sect.” Viktor straightened and reached into his coat pockets. “Here, Anya, this is for you.” He handed her a small brown bag. “And for you, Beckett. You’ll have to share with Mr. Bell, as I apportioned the items with three of us in mind.” He handed a matching parcel to the Gangrel.

Antigone opened the bag and looked inside. There was a small Ziploc bag full of a powdered herb mixture and a pair of plastic bottles full of clear liquid. 

“Holy water, from Saint Nicholas’ Cathedral; I assume Russian Orthodox holy water will work as well as any other.” He winked at the Salubri. “I didn’t quite have the time to collect water from Alfios or Strymonas.”

“I’m sure it will do just fine,” she chuckled. She handed one of the bottles to the Brujah. “Hold onto this; it’s one of the things that will help to destroy the Demon-Kindred.”

“Holy water? You’re kidding me, right? This ain’t  Hollywood .”

“She’s not kidding, Bell,” Beckett replied. “Holy water, fire, and a mix of ground herbs are what this thing is sensitive to. We’ve got this on damned good authority.”

“I sure as hell hope you people know what you’re talking about.” The Brujah rolled his eyes but pocketed the bottle of Holy water. “Now, you wanted to go back to your place, right?” he asked her; she nodded. “Alright then, let’s get a move on.”


	48. Chapter Forty-eight

**_ Wednesday, March 16, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 1:30 AM _ **

**_ 807 East 87 _ ** **_ th _ ** **_ Street _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ New York _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ NY _ **

Antigone reached for the doorknob, keys in hand, but the door, apparently unlocked, swung open at her touch. Alarmed, she turned back to Beckett and hissed a whisper. “I locked it before I left. I know I did.” He nodded and reached to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it away and stepped into the vestibule before kicking open the slightly ajar inner door with such force that one of the hinges popped off and went flying over their heads and out into the street.

The living room was a shambles; furniture upended, books strewn everywhere, and seated before the bookshelves on the floor were four kindred she recognized immediately as members of Rahab’s former pack.

A red film descended over the Salubri’s vision as she snarled with bestial rage. Her fangs lengthened as she whipped the kopis free of its sheath and swung it in a wide arc before her. In the center of her forehead, her third eye shone with a hellish crimson fire as she sprang forward towards the vampires who had dared to invade her home.

Viktor leaped towards her, grabbing for her to hold her back, but she moved with fluid grace and speed, twisting away from his grasp and landing a few feet in front of the closest Ba’ali. The kopis swept down with a steel whisper and struck the Ba’ali at the juncture of trunk and shoulder, and continued through his body as she cut him clean in half. As the blade passed through him, she twisted and turned, and her backsweep caught a second Ba’ali in mid-abdomen and ripped a gouge upwards through his chest; he collapsed to the ground, vitae gushing from his wounds, gurgling in agony.

Antigone spun and engaged the third Ba’ali, who attempted to charge her. Couching the blade at her side like a knight with a lance, she let him run himself up the length of steel before pulling it sharply upwards. With his mouth a wide O, the vampire collapsed bonelessly to the ground, and she pulled the kopis free, moving to face the final Diabolist remaining. Belatedly, he tried to flee, but she caught him with a kick to the knee that shattered the joint with a sickening crunch. As he fell to the ground, the kopis moved in a gleaming, bloody arc and his head tumbled from his shoulders as his body dissolved in a burst of ash. The entire combat had taken less than thirty seconds.

Theo Bell tried to hold the Gangrel back, but Beckett broke from his grasp easily and moved into the room. The Salubri reacted immediately and moved to face him, her blade bloody and her eyes full of madness. There was no trace at all of the woman he loved in her face; the Beast had her fully in its grasp.

He spread his hands before him and spoke softly. “Antigone. The Ba’ali are dead. Put the sword away.” She snarled and sprang at him, and he danced aside, his claws reflexively sprouting on both hands. “I’m not your enemy. Put the sword away.” He made no move to engage her in combat, and dodged to the left as she thrust the point of the kopis towards him suddenly.

It was a feint. She moved suddenly and the blade arced towards him, cold steel biting into the flesh of his right arm and laying it open to the bone. Roaring in pain, Beckett fought to keep his own Beast at bay and reached for the kopis with his left hand as he clutched the injured right to his chest. His left hand closed over hers on the grip, and with a forceful jerk, he wrested it from her and tossed it behind him. 

With a growl of fury and outrage, she raised her hands before her, and wicked claws sprouted from her fingers.  _ Oh shit, _ Beckett thought.  _ Isn’t it just my luck that she finally masters the next level of Protean, precisely in time to kill me?  _ They’d sparred often enough that he knew himself her better in combat, but with her in Frenzy, all bets were off. He was barely holding off his own Beast; succumbing to a frenzy of his own would only mean one of their Final Deaths. He clung to that thought, which did much for keeping him calm enough to maintain control. He willed blood to his injuries, enough to staunch the bleeding and seal the wounds.

She closed with him again. Disregarding the pain that still raged in his right arm, he reached out with both hands and grasped both her wrists, holding them fast. She reacted with a knee to his groin, and he dropped to his knees, her wrists slipping from his hold. He realized that had only one option left to him, and as much as he regretted having to resort to it, it was the only chance to end this now. Summoning as much force of will as he could, he focused on the Blood Bond between them and shouted,  **_ “Antigone! Stop!” _ **

The effect of his command was instant, as she halted before him. Her fangs and claws retracted, and the madness left her eyes. An expression of pure emotional agony crossed her face, and with a howl of anguish, she dropped to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

He was kneeling at her side instantly, ignoring his own pain. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he whispered as he pulled her close so that her face rested against his chest, and kissed the top of her head. “They’re gone now. It’s alright.” 

Blood tears spilled freely from her eyes. “That…that’s not it,” she croaked, her voice harsh. “Haven’t lost control like that…oh gods…must be seven or eight hundred years.” She buried her face against his chest, her body convulsing with sobbing. “All that work… Golconda …for nothing.”

Beckett held her and let her cry. He looked up and met the gazes of Viktor and  Bell ; the Tzimisce looked ashen, the Brujah slightly stunned. “Antigone…” he whispered in her ear, “you’re going to need to pull yourself together soon. We still have the demon to deal with.” She nodded, but continued to sob silently. His shirt was soaked with her bloody tears. He looked back up at the other two Cainites. Viktor nodded wordlessly and gestured to the Brujah, and they stepped into the next room, leaving Beckett alone with Antigone. 

**

He tilted her head back so she was looking into his eyes. “I know you feel bad about losing control,” he said.  _ An understatement if there ever was one, but what the hell... _ “But you need to look at it in context, love. Did you harm or destroy any innocents?” She shook her head no. “Did you do anything that you wouldn’t have done had the Beast not seized you?” 

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah,” she said thickly. “I would never have attacked you.”

“Well, I suppose there is that. But I’ll be okay; the arm’s mostly healed up already. I wish you wouldn’t have kneed me the way you did, though.” He winced at the memory; his groin still ached from the impact.

“Gods, I’m so sorry, Beckett,” she said, her voice breaking as a single blood tear trickled from one eye. “I…I would never have done any of that to you if I hadn’t…”

“Shh. I know, love.” He kissed her softly. “Now, if I recall, you told me once you’d met three people over the years who’d reached  Golconda , am I right?” She nodded. “And one of them was Brujah, wasn’t he?” She nodded again, and he smiled wryly. “Now, you’re not going to tell me you honestly believe that a  _ Brujah _ , of all people, never frenzied?”

She stifled a grin. “I guess not. But it’s been so long…I thought I’d overcome it. I thought I really had mastered the Beast within me.”

“If you’ve gone as long as you say without frenzying, then I’d say you have mastered it.” He kissed away the blood tear and smoothed her hair. “I’m no expert on Golconda, so what I say may not be worth the air it takes for me to say it, but I’d think that what matters most is how hard you’ve worked, how often you’ve succeeded. We all have our moments; do you think I was born with my eyes and hands the way they are?”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “No.”

“What matters the most is not that we have occasions when we fail, but that we keep trying despite our failures, that we refuse to give in to the Beast. That is what keeps us from becoming monsters.”

“You-you’re right.” She managed a slight smile and kissed him. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He cocked his head and smiled at her. “You feeling any better?”

“Yeah, a little.” She sat back and went to stand, but wobbled a bit on her feet. “Ooh, I used more blood than I realized. I’m going to have to feed soon.”

He stood and steadied her. “I’m not sure you’re in any shape to hunt like this, love. How about I go out and feed, and when I come back you can drink from me?”

“I suppose that would be okay. I’m going to see how badly they wrecked the bedroom, and if it’s not too bad I think I will lie down for a little while. I’m still a little shaky.”

“Alright. Let me walk with you,” he said, placing a guiding hand on her arm. They walked into the next room, where Viktor and Theo were engaged in conversation. “Antigone’s going to go in and lay down for a little bit, while I go out hunting. I’ll be back as fast as possible. Please, keep your eyes and ears open for any intruders, and lock the doors behind me.”


	49. Chapter Forty-nine

**_ Wednesday, March 16, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 4:30 AM _ **

**_ 807 East 87 _ ** **_ th _ ** **_ Street _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ New York _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ NY _ **

Antigone lay in bed beneath a stack of half a dozen comforters; she’d pulled them all out of the closet and piled them on the bed before climbing under them. She didn’t need them to ward off the cold; all but the most extreme temperatures had ceased to affect her centuries ago. Each layer, though, insulated her more from the world around her, and their combined weight was somehow reassuring.    


She tossed and turned, her mind as restless as her body. She’d started and abandoned her meditations more than a dozen times before admitting them to be a lost cause, at least for the present. Although she’d not been absent from her home for a long time in the relative scheme of things, the bedroom was no longer the safe haven it had once been. Shadows took on harrowing, threatening shapes, and the typical sounds of the city night had caused her to flinch, on two occasions badly enough that she’d ended up sitting bold upright, looking frantically around the room until she’d identified the noise. 

There was a soft knock on the bedroom door, and she jumped once again. “Y-yes?” she called out, her voice quavering.

“It’s just me,” Beckett said, opening the door and stepping into the room. “Goodness, are you cold?”

“No, no…just wanted to have some covers on the bed. Is everything alright?”

He nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. “No sign anywhere of the Demon-Kindred. Viktor and Theo are going to keep watch for the rest of tonight, but it’s been quiet thus far.” He reached to stroke her hair, and she shied away. 

“Sorry…I’m sorry,” she murmured, shivering as she moved back closer to him.

“It’s alright. You’ve had a rough night.” He folded his hands in his lap. “Can I get in bed with you, or would you rather I didn’t?”

“No, of course you can.” She moved over to make room for him, and he lay beside her atop the covers. “Would you hold me?”

Beckett slowly moved his arm until it encircled her, and gently tugged her closer to him. “You need to feed, darling,” he said. “Take what you need from me.” He moved his wrist closer to her mouth, but she remained motionless. “Come on, Antigone. You know your reserves are low.”

She shuddered but reached for his wrist, guiding it to her mouth. Her lips parted and her fangs extended to pierce his skin; she drank for only a few seconds before breaking down in tears. 

“Hey,” he leaned over her and gently turned her face to his. “Want to talk about it?” She shrugged her shoulders and wiped crimson tears from her eyes. “You know you need to take more than that from me. Come on, take some more and then we’ll talk.” She nodded, chewing her lower lip before moving her mouth back to his wrist. This time, she drank enough to satisfy him.

Beckett got beneath the small mountain of comforters and lay beside her. “Talk to me,” he whispered, brushing the hair back from her eyes. He traced a fingertip over the faint scar on her forehead that was the only visible trace of her third eye.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” she stammered. “Tonight’s been like a bad dream. I keep thinking I’ll wake and find myself back in my old bed in  Thebes , where I can run to Papa and he’ll make the nightmares go away.”

Beckett closed his eyes and sighed. “If only it were that simple. I promise you I’ll do what I can to help keep the nightmares away, if you’ll let me.”

She nodded and snuggled closer to him. “I’d like that a lot.”

He put his other arm around her and held her tightly. “Consider it done.” After a few minutes, he felt her relax as sleep finally claimed her. He released a deep sigh and closed his eyes, and soon followed her into slumber.


	50. Chapter Fifty

**_ Thursday, March 17, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 7:45 PM _ **

**_ 807 East 87 _ ** **_ th _ ** **_ Street _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ New York _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ NY _ **

Theo Bell let himself in the front door and locked it behind him. “I think I fed from one too many drunks,” he grinned. “Hard to avoid that today, though.”

From where she sat curled up on one of the couches, Antigone smiled. “You don’t look like it’s bothering you much.”

“That’s because I know I can burn it from my system in seconds if I need to. How’re you holding up?” He sat on the other couch and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. 

“Pretty good, all things considered.” She’d wakened three times during the day from terrifying nightmares that she could not recall once she’d woke, and had fallen back to sleep each time curled tightly against Beckett. “Heard anything?”

The Brujah shook his head. “It’s quiet. I don’t trust quiet.”

She nodded. “Neither do I.”

Beckett walked back into the room from the kitchen. A contact of Viktor’s had provided a dozen blood bags, and he’d just heated one for her. He handed her the pewter mug and sat beside her; she took it and pulled her knees up towards her chin to make room for him before taking a long swallow of vitae.

“Viktor’s gone to tend to some errands; he’ll be back in a few hours,” he told them. 

“My kopis…where is it?” Antigone asked, changing the subject. 

“I cleaned it up and put it on the kitchen countertop last night after you went in to lie down,” Theo said. “Want me get it for you?”

She nodded. “I need to oil and sharpen it.” She got up and dug around in the pockets of her army jacket, draped over the back of a chair, and fished out a small bottle of mineral oil and a whetstone.  Bell retrieved the scabbarded blade and handed it to her, and she sat back down on the couch to tend to it. She unstoppered the bottle, poured a small amount of oil on a rag and rubbed it into the steel.

**_ 9:00 PM _ **

The Brujah archon was deep in concentration, reading a book he’d found on one of the many bookshelves in the room. He and the Tzimisce had spent a few hours returning the house to normal the previous night, and he’d noticed a few titles that had piqued his interest. 

Beckett and Antigone sat together on the other couch, deep in quiet conversation. She’d finally been able to produce her claws reliably after several false starts, and he’d begun instructing her on the next level of Protean meditations which would lead to her learning earth melding. 

A sound outside the front door caught the attention of all three at once. “That must be Viktor,” Beckett said, standing and walking towards the doorway where the interior door had been. Antigone, who’d instinctively extended her senses in response to the noise, realized something was wrong and launched herself across the room, tackling the Gangrel and pulling him down as one of the living room windows erupted in a shower of broken glass.

“What the fuck?”  Bell was on his feet, moving towards the corner where he’d set his shotgun. 

  
It landed on its feet in the center of the room, its movements flowing into an offensive stance and striking out with a mighty kick to catch the Brujah’s hip in mid-stride, knocking him backwards to the floor. There was a loud snap as the hip joint shattered, and Theo Bell howled in agony.

Chal’gath sensed the One it had been sent to find crouched on the floor beside another Cainite, and smiled wickedly, baring long needle-like fangs. Its eyes glowed lambent green as it moved towards her, long curving claws sprouting from its fingertips. With each Cainite it consumed, it learned new and wondrous abilities, and the one it had fed on the previous night had possessed claws such as these. The wounds they’d inflicted had hurt Chal’gath sorely, and it had the impression they’d cause similar pain to a Cainite, so it had been most pleased to find itself able to call similar claws into existence.

Antigone met the Demon-Kindred’s eyes and snarled, baring her own fangs. Her kopis lay beside the couch, about four feet away. She curled herself into a protective ball and threw herself backwards towards it, grabbing the sheathed blade with both hands and bringing it to bear before her defensively in barely enough time to intercept a backhanded blow from the monster. Grasping the sheath in one hand and the leather-wrapped grip with the other, she pulled the blade free and moved into an en garde stance.

Once Antigone had moved away, Beckett rolled off to the side and crouched, his own claws extended. His sunglasses had been shattered, and his eyes glowed brilliant red in contrast to the Demon-Kindred’s green. He winced as he heard and saw the injury  Bell took, and exhaled sharply as Antigone blocked the monster’s attack. Beckett reached in his pocket and cursed as he removed a flattened plastic bottle; it had apparently burst when he’d landed on it, and the Holy water now soaked the insides of his pocket. He reached into the other, pulling out the plastic bag that held the herbal powder, and snapped it open.

Chal’gath hissed and stepped closer to the Salubri. “Your soul will taste so sweet. You are the One they promised me, oh yes.” Antigone held the kopis defensively before her and moved with the Demon-Kindred as they circled one another in the center of the living room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Beckett working open the packet of herbs and uttered a silent prayer that the Usurpers were right.

The Demon-Kindred noticed where she was looking, and turned to face the Gangrel as he pulled a fistful of powder from the envelope and threw it at the creature. It howled in pain and struck out blindly, one thrashing arm connecting with its attacker and sending him flying across the room to impact the wall with such force that several bookcases swayed and tilted forward before crashing to the ground.

Antigone saw him hit the wall and screamed. An impact like that would have shattered the spine of a human; she could only hope a Cainite would fare better. Swinging the kopis in a wide arc, she connected with the Demon-Kindred’s upper arm with a blow that should have removed the limb. Instead, Chal’gath reached for the blade with the other hand and snapped it in two.

_ Oh fuck. _ Antigone looked wildly around the room and dug frantically in her own pockets, but she’d left the holy water and herbs in the bedroom. She felt something hard and metal in her pocket and pulled it forth; it was Tom’s lighter. Reaching out towards the table, she grabbed the bottle of mineral oil that was still sitting there and raised it to her mouth, yanking the cap off with her teeth. As Chal’gath closed with her, she gave the plastic bottle a mighty squeeze and the oil fountained out and onto the Demon-Kindred. She flicked the lighter once, but it failed to spark. The monster seemed to realize what she was trying to do, and stumbled madly as it tried to move away from her. The lighter caught on the second try, and she tossed it at the Demon-Kindred.

A shrill, inhuman shriek split the night as a pillar of green fire erupted in the middle of the room. Chal’gath clawed desperately at itself, trying in vain to remove the burning oil and flames. The carpeting and one of the couches caught, and Antigone almost tripped over the table in her haste to reach Beckett.

Several of his ribs and vertebrae had been shattered; she healed these with a speed born of desperation and pulled him to his feet, screaming at him to move. They both staggered and nearly fell over Theo; between the two of them, they were able to get him to his feet, but by this time the entire front of the house was afire, blocking their exit. 

“We’ll have to go out the bedroom window,” Antigone yelled over the roaring of the flames. She grabbed the battered army jacket from the back of the chair and pulled it on as she moved through the house. The two men followed her through the thickening curtain of smoke and into the bedroom. She opened the window and punched out the screen, climbing through and jumping to the ground below. They followed, and she led them over the brick wall to the street.

The neighborhood was awake and on full alert; a fire truck’s sirens wailed from a few blocks away. Fire and smoke poured from all the windows, but appeared thus far not to have spread to any of the neighboring homes.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,”  Bell whispered, his voice colored with pain. “I don’t care where we go, long as it ain’t here.” Antigone nodded, and led them towards  Central Park , away from the flames and the crowd and the sirens. Away from the place which would never be her home again.


	51. Chapter Fifty-one

**_ Thursday, March 17, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 11:00 PM _ **

**_ Belvedere _ ** **__ ** **_ Castle _ **

**_ Central Park _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ Manhattan _ **

“How does that feel?” 

Theo Bell cautiously bent his knee and raised it towards his chin, then straightened his leg and stretched it to the side. The hip joint was tender but functional, the fracture healed and the worst of the pain resolved. “Not bad at all.” He swung his legs over the side of the table and stood. His left hip supported his weight without a problem. After a few deep-knee bends, he smiled. “Almost as good as new, in fact.”

“Good; broken bones are a bitch to heal. Give it a few nights before you push it, though, just to be safe.”

The Brujah looked at her. “I owe you; not only that, I owe you an apology. Whoever had the Blood Hunt called on you is an ass; they made you out to be as bad as that thing back there, that Demon-Kindred.”

She nodded. “I’m used to it; it started after  Saulot’s murder, people using my Clan as scapegoats for everything from diablerie to trafficking with demons.”

“Just because something’s been going on for a long time don’t make it right.”

Beckett snorted. “Isn’t that the truth.” Antigone sat down on the stone bench beside him, and he leaned over to kiss her cheek. 

“And how’s your back feeling?” she asked.

“Sore, but all in one piece; I’ll be fine. How are you holding up, though?”

She sighed wearily. “I’m alright. I’m just very, very tired.” 

Viktor stood from where he’d been sitting on the floor and walked over to her, crouching before her and taking her hands in his. “Anya, I don’t know that I can forgive myself for not being there for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; I told you not to worry about that. We made it out more or less in one piece.”

“But your home…”

She shook her head. “I’d have had to leave it anyway. With a Blood Hunt on me, I’ll have to leave  New York ; this just makes it a little easier to say goodbye.”

The Brujah shuffled his feet, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Speaking of goodbyes, about that promise you made me…you’re free to go, Antigone. I never saw you; as far as I know, you don’t even exist.”

“Thank you.” She met his gaze with a grateful smile. “What about Beckett, though? I thought the Camarilla knew he was with me.”

“All they know is that he was at the house where you were supposed to be.” He glanced over at the Gangrel. “Seems he was only there checking out some rumors he’d heard. It was a good thing I ran into him, too, since it took the two of us to take out that Demon-Kindred.” 

The Tzimisce smirked, standing and leaning back against the stone doorway. “I seem to have conveniently disappeared from your tale as well, Mr. Bell.”

Theo laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “You noticed that too, did you?  _ Tzimisce? _ What in the world makes you think I saw a  _ Tzimisce _ ?” He feigned wide-eyed innocence, and they all laughed with him. “No, man; the two of you were never here. Me and Beckett took care of business, just the two of us.”

Beckett nodded. “Hopefully, they’ll buy our tale. I’ll go with you when you make your report. The Tremere can check with  Vienna to confirm what I tell the Primogen about the Elixir.”

“Anya and I will return to my home, for now. The two of you are welcome to come by once your business with the Camarilla is complete.” 

“Alright. We’ll see you there as soon as we can get away.” He kissed Antigone once more and stood. “Might as well get it over with quickly, no?”

Bell smiled and nodded, and the two men departed, leaving Antigone and Viktor alone.


	52. Chapter Fifty-two

**_ Friday, March 18, 1998 _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ 4:15 AM _ **

**_ Viktor’s haven _ **

**_ Astor Place _ **

**_ The  _ ** **_ East _ ** **__ ** **_ Village _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ New York _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ NY _ **

“So they finally took us at our word and agreed there was no Salubri, and that… _ something _ was terrorizing the city, something demonic.”

“They wouldn’t go so far as to agree that the Ba’ali might have something to do with it, though,” Beckett sighed. “I suppose after having invoked the possibility of one nearly-forgotten Clan being to blame, they didn’t want to acknowledge a second might be involved.” 

“What of the Blood Hunt?” 

“It’s over. I deliberately asked the Primogen Council how there could be a Blood Hunt if there was no Salubri; it was a stretch for them, but they finally saw the logic there and agreed to call it off. So you’re safe for the time being.” The Brujah archon grinned. 

Antigone nodded. “Thank you for seeing to that. I still think it would be best, though, if I left  New York , and soon.” She stood and walked to the window, gazing out at the city that had been her home for centuries. “When and if I ever come back, it will be a long, long time from now.”

**

**_ 4:45 AM _ **

“I think I need to fall off the face of the earth for a while,” Antigone said, sighing. "Not only for my safety, but for my sanity as well." She snuggled closer to him and pulled the comforter over them both.

Beckett nodded. “I'm coming with you.”

She shook her head unhappily. “I want you to, and dear gods I wish you could...but this can't be about what I want; it has to be about what I  _ need _ , and I need to do this alone.” One way or another, she needed to come to terms with the events of the past few weeks, as well as to determine once and for all if  Golconda remained within her reach.

He closed his eyes before she could see his disappointment in them. “Where will you go?” he asked, his voice strained.

“I'm honestly not certain.” She reached for him and stroked his cheek tenderly. “It's not forever, Beckett, I swear it. I can't say how long it will be...weeks, months, years...I don't know. But I promise you, it's not forever.” She smiled sadly. “I don't expect you to wait for me, though. I wouldn't ask that of you.” 

“Don't be ridiculous. I would wait forever for you.” He pulled her into his embrace, holding her tightly. “Can you at least stay with me tonight?” he asked in a whisper.

She kissed him. “Of course; but I've got to leave before dawn tomorrow. If I delay it too long, I'm not sure I'll be able to bear leaving.”

“And the sooner you leave, the sooner you'll be back; in theory, at least,” he said, squeezing her. “I'm not happy about it, but I understand, or at least I'm trying to.” He kissed her, stroking her hair. “We only have an hour or so before the sun rises. Care to make the most of it?”

She nodded, and pulled him to her.


	53. Chapter Fifty-three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Thank you for coming along with me on this journey, and I hope you've enjoyed this tale as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have a few short stories from this 'verse that am considering posting, if anyone's interested.

**_ Tuesday, March 19, 2000 _ **

**_ Santa Monica _ ** **_ ,  _ ** **_ CA _ **

Beckett sat alone on the hilltop overlooking the sleeping city of  Santa Monica . From his vantage point, he could see the lights of the pier and the occasional car moving along the freeway, and hear the crashing of the surf at the beach. He was not typically one to remember dates of import unless they were connected to some event of historical significance, but tonight was different.  _ Two years ago tonight, _ he thought to himself;  _ it seems like a lifetime since I last saw her, but it's only been two years.  _ A lot had happened in that time, but he missed her as keenly tonight as he had their first night apart.  _ I suppose that proves Anatole was right; it wasn't just the blood, after all.  _

Nothing was the same without her in his life. He’d moved from city to city as he always had, following up on whispered rumors of Cainite artifacts, but couldn’t escape the feeling that something fundamental was missing from his existence.  _ Her.  _ He was in  Santa Monica now to investigate supposed Thin-Blooded kindred in the area; the Time of Thin Blood was said to presage  Gehenna , the End Times for Cainites. So far, he’d found nothing more than a handful of clueless Neonates, none of whom qualified in his estimation as Thin Bloods.  _ Thin-Brained, perhaps, _ he thought and snorted, remembering his conversation the previous evening with several of them.

The soft crunch of footsteps coming up the other side of the hill caught his attention, and he stood to confront whoever dared to intrude on his solitude, clenching his fists. He was  _ not _ in much of a mood to be sociable.

“You are not an easy man to find,” Antigone said with a grin as she crested the hill and stopped, hands on her hips, facing him. “I think I looked through most of  L.A. before I ran into Theo, and he clued me in that you might be here.” 

He blinked, mistrusting his eyes, but when he opened them, she was still there. “You're really here,” he whispered, his voice unsteady.  _ If this is a dream, _ he thought,  _ I pray I never wake from it. _

“Mostly,” she chuckled, and then stepped close, reaching for him. He crushed her to him, kissing her with the stored passion and yearning of the past twenty-four months, and breathed deeply to take in her scent. 

“Something…something's different,” he said, breaking apart from her abruptly. “I can't tell what it is, but something's changed about you.” He sniffed the air again; her scent was definitely changed from what it had been when they'd last been together. 

She grinned widely. “Ah, I was wondering if it would be noticeable.” 

“What is it?” He squinted and tilted his head to the side, examining her more closely, but couldn't detect any visible changes. Perhaps she looked more careworn, and the army jacket was definitely even more battered than it had been when he’d seen her last, but that was about all his eyes could tell him.

“I did it. You were right, after all.”

His jaw dropped. “ Golconda .” The word was a whisper, and more a statement than a question. She nodded with glee. “Oh my. So, ah...what's it like?”

“Wonderful!” She hugged him giddily. “Better than I ever imagined.”

He looked into her eyes, twining his fingers through her hair. “Does this change anything for us?”  _ Please tell me it doesn’t… _

“Not in the slightest.” 

_ Do I dare hope… _ “So, are you back to stay, then?” 

“I am if you'll still have me. I know I was away a long time, and I told you before I left that I wouldn’t expect you to wait for me.” She looked at him expectantly, and he could tell she was suddenly nervous that perhaps he’d turn her away.

Beckett smiled at last, and kissed her tenderly. “A very wise woman I know once told me,  _ 'you came back; that's all that matters,’  _ and I suddenly understand exactly what she meant by that.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Not necessarily wise, just very much in love.”

He pulled her closer and kissed her again, and again, until she was very sure that she had nothing to worry about. 

**Author's Note:**

> The members of Clan Ba'ali (Children of Ba'al) in this tale are named after demons of various myth and legend. 
> 
> Additional tags may show up with new chapters.  
> 
> 
> _Unspoken thoughts are written in italics_
> 
> The Wikipedia entry for Vampire: the Masquerade has a good listing and brief synopsis of each of the Clans/Bloodlines.
> 
> This was published on Deviant Art initially, and my username at that time was Xirene.


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